Tales From the Abyss
by ArianaKir
Summary: A young woman riding through the forest one day is surprised to find a tiefling lying on the path. She takes him home to heal him, only to find herself in trouble. A story about Valen Shadowbreath.
1. Chapter 1

A tale about Valen Shadowbreath and his first foray onto the prime material plane. First chapter includes a bit of character development for the character of Anara.

OOO

Anara blearily opened her eyes. God she felt like shit. Her mouth was full of cotton and the headache was pounding behind her eyes already. The previous night was nothing but a blur. All she remembered were a few empty bottles of liquor sitting in front of her before she passed out. It greatly surprised her to be waking up in her bed, instead of on the kitchen floor. She must have had the presence of mind to drag herself to the bedroom before she fell completely unconscious.

She pushed herself up and narrowed her eyes, looking through the crack in the curtains. It was bright outside. The sun was coming directly in her window, so it had to be after noon. Again. One of these nights all this drinking was going to catch up with her and she wouldn't wake up.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. Standing up caused her to swoon a little. The last traces of alcohol were still in her system, making her woozy. She stumbled to the door of the bedroom and then into the main room of the house in which she lived. There was a pitcher of water on the table and she poured herself a cupful. She greedily gulped it down and then poured herself another. Once her thirst was slaked, she notice that chairs were overturned and clothes and dishes had been strewn about the room. Yeah, the place was trashed. She must have thrown some stuff around after she blacked out last night. She went around, setting chairs and overturned tables to rights. It looked much better.

The headache was really pounding now – encompassing her entire head and starting down her neck. Riding would help, it always did. Hell, maybe she'd have an accident with the horse and die. It might be a quicker way to go than drinking herself to death. She went back into the bedroom and got dressed in her riding breeches and a soft woolen tunic.

Even for her, last night had been bad. She'd been hitting the bottle pretty hard since her husband died a year ago. Every night became an amalgam of all the nights before, and time didn't seem to pass. The wound she felt would never close, and she didn't want it to. If the pain went away, then it would be as if her husband had never existed, and that was a fact she just couldn't handle. Last night had been a morbid celebration of the anniversary of his death. Exactly one year ago today, she had found his mangled body in the forest. It would be poetic if she could contrive to die today, but she was too much of a coward to kill herself intentionally. She sighed.

She gulped down another cup of water and then went out to the barn. The only thing that she did for anything anymore was to take care of what animals were left. She had a horse, a cow and some chickens in a coop out behind the barn. She fed the cow, scattered some feed for the chickens and saddled up the horse. For a moment, she almost felt normal. She leaned her head against the horse's flank and stood there for a few minutes, comforted by the steady breathing of the beast.

There was a path that began behind the barn and went into the woods behind her homestead. It wound through the forest and eventually went over the hills into the next valley. It would also take her by the spot where the orcs had ambushed her husband and killed him. She didn't go by there very often, but today was special. She could stop at the site of his murder and say a prayer.

She mounted Violet, the horse, and rode out of the barn. She kicked the horse into a gallop, enjoying the feel of the wind against her face. Then she let Violet walk. The fresh air was already clearing the headache from her. The sun was shining in her face and there was a pleasant smell on the wind. She turned the horse onto the trail that led through the woods. After an hour, she came to the spot where her husband had met his untimely end. She dismounted and tethered Violet to a tree, then sat on a rock near the spot, her head in her hands.

The day he died was burned into her mind with a clarity that would not go away. All the details were there for the remembering: the way it had been cloudy most of the day; the smell of the bread baking on the hearth and the way his lips felt as he kissed her goodbye. Liam said he was going out to check the traps in the forest for rabbits. She had smiled at him and told him not to tarry. They had been married 6 months. He had inherited this farm from his parents when they had been killed by orcs in the same forest that had claimed his life. It was a case of life foreshadowing death. She remembered telling him to be careful. Then she remembered going about her day – baking bread, sweeping the floors, emptying chamber pots; feeding the animals. When it began to get dark, she got worried. All night she had paced the floor, waiting for him to return. In the morning, she had saddled Violet and ridden like a bat out of hell into the forest, down this very trail to find him. She had come upon the scene of the carnage with a knowing fear in her heart.

She had found him, mutilated almost beyond recognition, staring up at the sky with a look of abject fear on his face. His horse was gone – either taken by the orcs or fled when the attack began. She had ridden as fast as she could into the village and summoned the cleric, but it was too late, and the damage was too severe. All the cleric had been able to do was tell her it was orcs who had killed him.

On that day her life had ended. She became a shell of the woman she used to be. She went through the motions of living, but her heart wasn't in it. She was biding her time until she too could die and join Liam, wherever he was. Right after his murder, her mother had come to stay with her for a few months. If she hadn't, Anara probably would have taken her life then. But her mother's ministrations left her without the courage to do that now.

Tears welled up in her eyes and fell silently to the ground. Then, before she could stop herself, she was heaving and sobbing and pummeling the rock she was sitting on. She didn't know how long she spent crying, but after some time she found herself becoming calm. Her hands were bruised and bloody from pounding the rock. The horse was staring at her with a sad look on its face.

The terrible grief that consumed her had lessened a little with her outburst. It was time to be going back home. The horse patiently stood there while she mounted her, and they set off down the trail towards the farm. She had just rounded a bend when she heard a loud pop and smelled ozone in the air. A terrible scream tore through the stillness of the forest, followed by a loud thump. Sitting in the saddle, her horse momentarily stopped, she wondered if she should go see what that was. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she rode towards the place the sounds had come from.

Around another bend in the path she saw it – some kind of creature, the likes of which she had never seen before. It was bruised, bloody and wearing rags of some sort. The pants looked intact, but the shirt was slashed to ribbons. Violet shied away from the creature in the path, but Anara urged her closer. It looked human, and yet... She got down off the horse and led Violet towards it. It was tall – about 6 and a half feet. There were two small horns curving from its brow backward and a sinuous tail. But other than that, it looked human, and it was a male.

Anara's heart was thudding in her chest. She had no idea what type of being this was, or how it had arrived here. She looked around, expecting to see someone or something else with it. But it appeared to be alone. She moved a little closer, trying to determine if it was still alive. Its, no his, chest was moving. So he was still alive. His back was covered with whip marks and slashes that looked like claws drawn across the skin. There was a large gash across his forehead. Anara screwed up her courage and said, "Hello?" No response.

Still holding the horse's reins, she felt for a pulse on the creature's neck. It was there, but very faint. Her touch caused him to flinch. Not only was he tall, he was physically large, all of it muscle. He probably weighed 250 pounds. She didn't know what to do. This creature obviously needed some help, but she couldn't lift him or drag him back to her farm. She clutched her arm to her chest, thinking. There was a travois back in the barn for hauling game from the traps Liam used to set. She could take Violet back to the farm, get the travois, then come back and try and lift this creature onto the travois. "Anara, what are you thinking?" she said aloud to herself. "For all you know this creature is some kind of demon who will only rend me limb from limb when he awakes. Still, he is helpless right now and I can't just leave him here!"

Her mind made up, she vaulted onto Violet and pushed her into a gallop down the narrow path. In just 20 minutes, she was back at the farm, searching through the barn for the travois. She found it piled up in the corner with some other trapping equipment. She pulled it out and hooked it up to the horse. "I promise you, Violet, after this I'll bring you some apples to eat." She got back on the horse and bade her run back to the area where the strange man-creature was.

When she got back to the spot, he was still there, lying in the same position. She set the travois up next to him and began to try to roll him over onto it. As she grabbed his chest, one of his hands shot out and grabbed her arm. Her heart began thudding again, and she looked into his face. His eyes were open and full of fear. She whispered, "It's all right, I'm just trying to help. You'll be all right. Let me roll you onto this travois." He seemed to understand her, for he tried to help her get him onto the travois. Anara had to throw all her muscle and weight into pushing and pulling him onto it, even with his help. The effort of moving himself caused him to pass out.

Sweat trickled down her brow and her breath came in heavy gasps. Moving him had been difficult, but it was done. Her back would probably hurt tomorrow with the unaccustomed strain. Violet pulled the travois back down the trail while Anara followed behind, making sure the litter didn't hit any rocks or stumps along the way.

This man needed healing of a sort she couldn't provide. He needed a cleric, and desperately. The wounds on his back looked like they might be dangerously deep. When she had touched him earlier, his skin had been hot and now he moaned and cried out feverishly. But by the time she got back home, it would be too late to go into the village and bring the cleric out to her farm.

The cleric. She really ought to call him by his name – Dayfid. Dayfid had once been a suitor of hers, before she had met Liam. Her parents had desperately wanted her to marry him. They had been disappointed when she chose Liam instead. She and Dayfid were still on friendly terms, for which she was glad. But she hadn't spent much time in the village at all since Liam's death. She had taken to referring to everyone there by what they did – the butcher, the cleric, the mayor. It was easier to think of dying if she distanced herself from the people she knew. He had understood her need to be alone. He would help her now.

Anara got back to her farm half an hour after the sun went down. How was she going to get this man-creature into her house? "Better if we both spend the night in the barn. That way I won't have to move him as much and there would be plenty of room for both of us to sleep," she said to herself. She dismounted and led Violet into the barn. The travois unhooked easily from the horse and she drug it into one of the stalls. It wasn't easy to drag it with the large man-creature on it, but she managed. She got Violet into her stall and went back to the house for the apples she had promised the horse and some other supplies that the injured creature would need.

The animals were restless. The new creature in the barn smelled of something new, and to them new was never good. Anara checked on him. He was still unconscious and lying on his stomach. She poured some water into a drinking skin and held it up to his mouth. She trickled the water into his mouth, then stroked his throat to make him swallow. She sat there for a minute, looking at him.

He was very pale – whether normally or due to blood loss she didn't know. His hair was a blood red color and he had a long, aquiline nose and a narrow face. He was very muscular and broad of chest. Some of the wounds on his back were still weeping. His shirt was all but gone, so she removed what was left. She ripped a piece of the sheet she had brought back with her and dipped it into the water. Then she cleaned his wounds. Once they were clean, she put some of the salve on the worst ones, and lay clean strips of sheet over the top of them.

Blankets. They would need blankets if they were going to spend the night in the barn. She made another trip back to the house for them. It was still summer, so it wouldn't get too cold. But that man-creature could be in shock, and she'd need to keep him warm. She grabbed a bottle of booze too, and some more apples, jerky and a loaf of bread. She felt a little hungry herself.

Life on a farm was unforgiving. No matter what else was going on, the animals still needed to be tended to. In this case, the cow really needed to be milked. The task was familiar and relaxing, and it gave her some time to think. Why had she really brought this man here to her barn? Her old friends in town would think she was crazy for dragging some unknown creature into her life. But she couldn't have left him there to die in the forest. It wouldn't have been right.

Every now and then the man moaned. His fever dreams didn't seem to be any kinder to him than whatever it was that gave him the wounds on his back. Speaking of which, they had stopped seeping blood at least, and were scabbing over. That was good. She sat on the hay and placed the food she'd brought with her on the stool. She ate an apple, some jerky, and a hunk of bread and washed it down with a bottle of the milk from the cow. She looked down at this man in her barn. What was she doing? Taking care of a stray? What if he woke up in a violent mood and killed her, for no reason other than she was there? "Well, if that happens," she thought to herself, "I'll get my wish. It would serve me right for picking up some stranger in the woods. But I really am too young to die.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?"

She sat there, in silence, for quite a while, alone with her thoughts. Her life had changed drastically since that day a year ago. For six blissful months she had been married to Liam, the man of her dreams. There had been talk of having children and maybe even someday leaving Ornilea and seeking their fortune elsewhere. There hadn't been enough time. Six months wasn't enough time to spend with him. As she thought of that lost hope, she began to cry. Once she started, she couldn't stop. The tears came and her body was wracked with sobs. When she thought she couldn't possibly cry anymore, she shook with silent sobs bereft of tears. From somewhere, the cat that lived in the barn crept under the stall and came and sat in her lap. She sat there, silently sobbing and stroking the cat.

After a while, she was exhausted with crying, and thirsty. Her face felt hot and puffy. Pushing the cat off her lap she got up to stretch her legs. The blankets she'd carried in from the house were laid over a crate. She draped one over the man, and as she did she felt his forehead. He was burning up. She dribbled some more water into his mouth. Then she took a long drink herself.

Anara spied the bottle of booze she had brought out here to disinfect the wounds of the man-creature. The curve of the bottle beckoned to her, mesmerizing her with its shape and the knowledge of the oblivion it would bring. She didn't have to live with the grief – she could drink herself into a stupor and not feel anything. She reached for the bottle, touching the top with her fingertips. Then she yanked her hand back. If she drank, tonight, she not only endangered her life but the life of the man-creature beside her. If she drank tonight, she would forget her grief, but she would also forget Liam, forget her hopes, and forget herself. It was time for her to stop hiding behind the booze, and start living again.

She scooted lower against the wall. All of a sudden she was very tired. She looked over at the man-creature. His breathing was still labored, but she was so tired. She figured that if something changed, she'd notice, and lay down on the hay and went to sleep.

OOO

A few hours later, Anara was awakened by the absence of the man-creature's raspy breathing. She crawled over to where he was and looked at him again. Part of her was terrified that he might have died in the span of time that she slept. Part of her hoped it was true. His chest still rose and fell, but his breathing was no longer labored. Her hand went to his forehead. It was still hot, but he seemed to have slipped from unconsciousness to sleep. She grabbed the water skin and dribbled some more water into his mouth. This time he swallowed on his own.

Pulling the blankets over her, she lay back down and slept again. The barn cat crept back into the stall and lay next to her, keeping her back warm.


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply – I don't own Valen Shadowbreath, only Anara and the other ancillary characters in this story! Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the barn door when Anara roused from her stupor. Too tired to stand, she crawled over to her patient. He was looking much better. She went to move the blankets off his back to check his wound dressings, and his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Fear stilled her hand in the act of removing the blanket. It hung there above his back, shaking slightly. She knew nothing about this creature. His eyes were open and looking at her. There was coldness there, behind the blue of his eyes. A voice croaked out, "Where am I?"

She snatched her hand back from his grasp. "You are in a barn, on my farm. I found you in the forest behind my house, and I brought you home with me. Here, drink some water." He drank greedily from the water skin she held to his mouth. When she tried to pull it back, lest he drink too much at once, he grabbed it from her and finished off all the water. "More," he rasped.

Anara got up and refilled the skin. Again he drained it. The cow mooed and startled her into realizing the animals needed to be tended. She busied herself with her chores, trying to ignore the racing of her heart. Everywhere she moved within the barn, the cold gaze of the man followed her. When she finished, she stood in the middle of the barn clutching a pail of milk, trying to figure out what to do with it. He stared greedily at the milk, and when she held it out to him, he snatched it from her and gulped it down quickly. He looked up at her, his eyes hungry for more.

"You can't have more right now. I don't want you to get sick. I'm going into the village to get Dayfid, the cleric. I'll bring him back and..."

"No," he rasped. "No cleric. Cleric will kill me." Then he collapsed: the effort of those few words having drained what strength he had. Anara thought for a few minutes about what he'd said. Why would a cleric kill him? It didn't do to think too hard about it. However, she was going to have to go into the village and get some healing potions from Dayfid at the very least. Her ward wasn't going to heal all that damage without any help.

The thought of going to the village was abhorrent, but it had to be done. The horse nickered as she saddled her up and mounted her. Anara thought back over her past, since Liam had died. Dayfid had begun bringing her food and necessities 6 months ago when it became evident that she was incapable of caring enough about herself to do that on her own. He had come out two days ago for a visit. The food and supplies he had brought would last for at least a week. Anara couldn't rely on him to come out sooner than that. If she was going to get some healing potions to cure this man-creature, she would have to ride into the village. He would be mightily surprised to see her there. As would all the villagers. The thought of having to endure their smiles, and see the looks of pity on their faces caused a shudder to roll through her body. Almost she turned around. But if she did, then the man-creature in her barn would die for sure. That fever had a hold on him now, and if she didn't get something to fight it, he wouldn't make it. That could not happen. Another death on her conscious could not be tolerated. She would help this man-creature in her barn, as she couldn't help Liam when he had been attacked.

Riding Violet down the main street, the townspeople pointed at her and whispered to each other behind their hands. Some greeted her with smiles, as one would greet a friend long gone: others with looks of pity. Still others greeted her with indifference. The temple loomed large in the center of the street. It was a lavish building in an otherwise impoverished town. Obviously the clerics that ran this temple were wealthy and successful. There was a hitching post outside the steps, and Anara left Violet there.

Walking up the temple steps had always been peaceful for her before Liam's death. Now she felt the weight of all that had happened with every step she took. The door opened easily at her push, and she went inside. The benches were empty, and the room was still. The sun shone through the stained glass windows on each side of the main room. She stood in the stillness and closed her eyes. It had been such a long time. A year ago, she had forsworn the gods for all that they had taken from her. Now she felt defiled and dirty standing in the temple. The peace she used to feel here was gone. Gone with her hopes for a life with Liam.

Behind the alter was the door that lead to the priest's chambers. A few steps took her in front of the plain wooden door. She held up her hand to knock, and for a moment reconsidered. A large sigh escaped from her and she knocked on the door. "Enter," said Dayfid's melodious voice. She squared her shoulders to give the illusion of a confidence she didn't feel. She walked into his chamber, and smiled at him.

"Anara! This is a surprise!" He got out of his chair and embraced her. "I didn't expect to see you coming to town for, well, I don't know if I expected it ever again, to be honest." He said, holding her at arm's length and looking into her face. "I'm glad to see you, truly. What can I do for you?" He still held her arms with his hands, smiling with joy to see her.

"Dayfid, I…" she began.

"Please sit." He gestured to a chair near his desk. She walked over and sat down, crossing her legs and looking around his office. There was only one window, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. The desk sat in the middle of the room, his chair behind it and two chairs in front. She sat in one of these. Dayfid sat in the chair next to her – it was a more intimate seating arrangement, one that a friend would choose.

"I need your help," Anara blurted out, before she lost her nerve. She had realized on the way over here that the man-creature in her barn was right: she couldn't tell the cleric about him. He would think her mad, or come and see for himself and slay the creature on sight. So she had concocted a story in which she needed the healing phial that didn't involve some strange creature she found in the forest.

"I need a healing potion for my cow," She said, her face all earnestness. "I think one of her milk ducts got infected and now she's really sick." She looked into his eyes, pleading with him, "I love that cow. Since Liam..." her voice choked up a little. "I need to save my cow, Dayfid. I'm sure you're not supposed to give me a healing phial for a beast, but I can't have her die! Not now!"

He pulled her close to him and let her cry on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and said, "There, there Anara. It's about time you cried over your lost husband. Of course I will give you a healing phial for the cow." He held her a little away from him, looking at her face. "Do you want me to come out with you, to make sure the cow does get better?"

"No. I can do it myself. I have to do it myself," she said, her voice a harsh croak.

He got up and went over to one of the bookcases. Pulling on one of the volumes released a lever, and the bookcase swung in, showing a secret room behind it. He went into the room. The sound of a chest unlocking was followed by the sound of Dayfid searching for something. He came out a few minutes later with 2 healing phials. He placed a little drawstring pouch containing them in her hand.

"Put the red one in her water and have her drink it all. The pink one is for later, if the red one doesn't work. The pink one must be given within a day of the red one for it to be effective, if it's needed at all." He smiled at her, then drew her to him again and kissed her forehead. "Go, Anara. Make your cow well. And please, return tomorrow or the next day and let me know how it went. It does my heart good to see you in town again."

Anara got up, thanked Dayfid for the phials and went back outside. She got on her horse and started down the street. Passing the butcher's shop, she noticed a few of her old friends standing in front. Violet stopped, and Anara waved to them, tentatively. They smiled and one, Cara, ran up to her. "Anara it's good to see you once more." Cara grabbed at her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Dayfid's asked us all to leave you alone, but we've missed you so. Please tell me we'll see you again soon!"

She smiled down at Cara. Cara had always been a good friend. But when Anara married and moved out to the farm, she and Cara hadn't seen much of each other anymore. Now she was married and expecting a child. "It has indeed been too long," she said. "My cow is sick, and I have to tend her so she gets better. But when she's well, I promise to come back and we'll sit down and have a nice long talk." She smiled and waved at her old friends again, and clicked at Violet. She and the horse left town and went off towards her home.

OOO

The road from the village to her farm wasn't long. As soon as she returned, she checked on the man in her barn. His eyes were closed in sleep. She took care of the animals, and went back into the house to clean up. Her body was covered in dirt and blood from moving the stranger here. A sponge and some water from the well took care of that.

However comfortable the barn was for the animals, it wouldn't do to keep a man out there. Not only would he need to be closer to the house for her to care for him, he was more visible out there if someone stopped by. There was an old cot in the shed behind her house. It was used for visits from her mother, but it would work just as well for the man-creature in her barn. The house was small and consisted of only two rooms. The cot would really only fit in her bedroom. She brought it in and set it up. Then she swept the floors and cleaned the dishes. The rumbling of her stomach told her it had been far too long since she'd last eaten. Then there was the man out in her barn – he was probably ready for something besides water and milk. Anara set a pot on to boil, adding some tubers and meat. Once it had boiled completely down to mush, she prepared a bowl for her unwilling guest.

When she arrived, he was awake. He stared at her with a cold calculating glance, as if he was sizing her up. His head was propped up against a pile of hay that lay next to the wall of the stall. As she walked around the barn, tending to the animals, he watched her. She could feel the cold blue eyes burning into her back as she milked Flora, the cow. She took the bottled milk, the mush and the healing phials and went into the stall where he lay.

"You understand me, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I don't mean you any harm. I'm trying to help you." She held out the bowl of mush with a spoon. "Eat this. It will help you regain your strength."

He took the bowl and ate it hungrily, his eyes on her the whole time. She silently handed him the milk, and he gulped it down just as quickly. The whole time his piercing gaze never left her face. She met his stare with her own. When he'd finished, she moved her hand towards his forehead to feel if the fever was still on him. He grabbed her hand with his own, squeezing it so hard it hurt.

"I just want to see if you still have a fever," she said, wincing from the pain of his grasp. He eased his grasp and let her move her hand to his forehead, but didn't let go of her wrist. She felt his forehead: he was still burning up.

"Look. I need you to roll on your stomach so I can check the wounds on your back. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." He glared at her with as much enmity as he could gather, and then rolled onto his stomach.

"Thank you," Anara said. She lifted up the bandages on his back. His wounds looked better, but a few were starting to pus up and get red and foul smelling. She sighed loudly. "Look, I have to cleanse the wounds on your back. I will have to pour some alcohol over them. It's going to hurt: a lot. But I have to do it to clear out the infection. Then I'm going to give you a healing potion. Ok?" She leaned over to look at his face. He was still staring at her.

"I can see you're not a talkative type. Do you have a name I can call you by, or shall I continue to refer to you as 'you'?" She smiled at him. He glared back. She kept looking at him, refusing to look away until finally he growled, "My name is Valen."

"Well, Valen, my name is Anara. Now, can I cleanse the wounds on your back, or are you going to rip my arm out of my socket?" for he was still holding her by the wrist. His face gave an expression of despair and pain and anger so great that even Anara couldn't fathom it.

He said, "Do your worst, it won't be much to me." He let go of her wrist.

She carefully removed the bandages and threw them into a basket she'd brought out to the barn with her. Then she took some clean strips of the sheet she'd ripped up and soaked them in the alcohol. "This will hurt," she said as she patted the wounds on his back with the soaked bandages. He didn't wince or move or cry out in pain. She cleaned the wounds as best she could – clearing away the infected tissue and dousing it all liberally in alcohol. Then she patted it dry and took clean strips of the sheet and bound them up again.

"Can you sit up?" she asked. Valen rolled onto his side and tried to push himself up. She went to help him and he pushed her away. She held up her hands to show she wouldn't touch him. He sat up. The effort cost him dearly though, and he panted at the exertion. "I need to wrap these bandages completely around your chest," Anara said. She showed him the bandages. He nodded. He tried to hold up his arms, but couldn't. The strain of his injuries made him too tired and weak.

"Put your arm around my shoulder," Anara said. He looked at her, trying to discern if she was going to hurt him. "Look, Valen, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing now. I'm not going to heal you only to hurt you more later!" she said in exasperation. As she said it, she looked at his face. He looked surprised, like that was exactly what he thought she was going to do. "I won't hurt you, I promise." He put his arm around her shoulder. She wrapped the bandages around his chest and tied them off.

Anara lifted his arm off her shoulder and placed it by his side. He was leaning against the wall of the barn, barely conscious. "Hey, Valen, don't pass out on me yet. I need you to drink this potion." The phial of red liquid caught the light and shone a little bit. He looked at her, the fever burning in his eyes. She uncorked the potion and held it up to his mouth. He drank it, and grimaced. "Tastes awful," he croaked. She gave him the water skin and watched him drink it all. The healing potion would knock him out to do its work. She helped him lie back down on the hay, and then stepped away from him.

He was out. He was obviously in a great deal of pain, and not all of it was physical. He just as obviously didn't trust her, either, even though she hadn't done anything to hurt him. Where had he come from? And why was he so bitter and afraid? She sighed heavily and sat down beside him. "What am I doing?" she asked herself for the hundredth time.

Anara picked up the bottle of alcohol she'd used to clean his wounds and took a swig. She pulled up the blankets over Valen, and then wrapped one around herself. She started thinking about Liam, and the unfulfilled promise of their life together. Drink after drink, memory after memory, and before she knew it, the bottle was empty. The empty bottle distorted everything she saw through it. In a fit of anger and grief, she threw the bottle across the barn and watched it shatter on the far wall. The grief won out, and she cried herself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Anara awoke several hours later, it was to find Valen staring at her. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and stared back. His gaze was unflinching: cold, distant and very sad. She found the water skin, got up and filled it from a jar on the other side of the barn. She stretched, took a long drink from the jar and then brought the water skin over to Valen. Wordlessly she handed it to him, and he drained it dry. She reached up to feel his forehead. Again he grabbed her wrist. She cocked her head, and he allowed her to touch his forehead. "Your fever's gone," she said, matter of factly. "Let me see your back."

He rolled over onto his stomach, and she removed the bandages. His wounds were much better this morning – no oozing or bad odor was coming from any of them. The scabs looked healthy: not infected. She re-bandaged his wounds and bade him sit up. He did, staring at her all the while.

"Where am I?" Valen said, his voice low and guttural.

"I told you before," Anara sighed, "you're in my barn."

"No, I mean, what plane am I on?" he asked.

"Plane? What do you mean what plane are you on? I have no idea what you're talking about! You're on my farm near the village of Ornilea. That's as best as I can tell you." Anara said tersely.

Valen grunted. "Clueless. Was anyone else around when you found me?" he asked, his eyes intent on her face.

"Not that I saw," she said, meeting his stare with her own. "Can you stand?"

Valen slowly got to his feet, his balance unsure after lying down for so long.

"Put your arm around my shoulders and I'll help you to the house. The barn's supposed to be for the animals." Anara gave him a small smile.

The trip across the yard was done in small increments, as Valen's strength would allow. They walked a few steps and paused while he caught his breath. A few more steps, a pause. The entire time his expression was one of disgust and pain, and it was obvious that the disgust was with himself at his weakness. After an interminably long time, the door to the house was in front of them. Anara kicked it open with her foot and led her guest inside.

"All right, let's get you into the bedroom, and then I'll go fix both of us some decent food. We both need something substantial to eat. I set up a cot in there for you, it should be more comfortable than the stall in the barn." Valen cautiously made his way to the bedroom while Anara watched. Then she turned her back on him and began bustling about the kitchen fixing breakfast.

As soon as the pancakes and eggs were finished, she went back into her bedroom to find Valen sitting on the edge of her bed. He looked at her – his gaze unreadable and distant. "Why are you doing this for me?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Do you even know what I am?" His blue eyes flashed at her, a hint of anger behind them.

"No, I don't know what you are," she answered honestly. "But I couldn't leave you in the forest to die." Her voice broke on the last sentence. Her lower lip trembled and she took a deep breath to steady herself. "I saw a chance to save you, the way I couldn't…" She began to sob. She ran from the room and sat down by the fire in the living area. She let the tears come. This had been too long in the waiting – her grief. Put off for far too long, it now consumed her. It rolled over her: threatening to drown her in its depths. She cried for her lost love; her lost chance at happiness; her lost dreams. She cried because she couldn't do anything to save the man she'd loved, and she cried because she couldn't change that past even though she'd give anything to have Liam back with her.

After a while, she felt a tentative hand on her shoulder. She looked up at Valen, who had managed to get himself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She put her hand over his, wiped her eyes and stood up. "I'm… I'm sorry about that," she said, a tremulous smile playing across her face. "It's just that I…"

"You don't have to apologize," Valen said quietly. His eyes took on a haunted quality. "We all have our pains and personal torments to suffer through." He looked directly into her eyes, his pain speaking to hers.

Anara moved over to the table and helped him sit down. Then she sat across from him and they ate their breakfast silently. It had gone cold over the course of the hour in which she had cried uncontrollably, but neither of them seemed to care, lost as they were in their own thoughts. When they were finished, she cleared the plates and left them sitting on the dry sink. She turned around and looked at Valen. His eyes met hers with a steady gaze. "How are you feeling?" she asked, hands clutched around her stomach.

"I feel like hell," he said, a small chuckle coming from his throat. "But I think I will survive. That healing phial seems to have cured me of the most damaging of my ailments." He looked up at her again, his eyes still cold and hard. "Thank you for all that you've done, but I'm afraid you've only preserved me for more pain."

"What do you mean?" Anara asked in a small voice, crossing the small gap from the sink to the table and sitting down. "How did you come to have so many injuries in the first place?"

Valen looked down at his hands. "I am a slave," he said simply. "My master uses me for fighting. I am his pet," he spit out. "I live only to fight at his whim. He beat me to within an inch of death because I lost the last fight he set up for me. But even though I lost that fight, he still gave me a great deal of latitude within his tower. I have won many fights for him over the past 5 years. With each win, I moved up in the ranks of the other slaves living in that dreadful place. Eventually, I came to have my own rooms, and the freedom to move throughout the tower.

I was biding my time; planning an escape: mapping the tower and any portals into and out of it. Grimash't had a portal to the top layer of the Abyss in the upper floor of his tower. I managed to get to it and I stepped through."

He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with fury, "The plane of infinite portals is a terrible place, and I didn't know my way around very well. I was being chased by other denizens of the Abyss so I stepped blind into the first portal I could find. They are the ones who slashed my back as I fled from them. I was lucky that portal led here, and not somewhere deeper into the Abyss." Valen crossed his arms in front of him, winced, and put them back by his side. He looked out the window into her front yard. "I don't think Grimash't will let me go so easily. He is playing with me. Allowing me a small taste of freedom, so that when he enslaves me again, it will be all the more painful. I am sure he will come for me, but it will take him a while to find me. By then I should be gone."

Anara blinked in confusion. Some of his words made sense. But a great many of his descriptions defied reality. Portals, the abyss, planes – she knew nothing of what he spoke. "I am afraid I don't understand," she said simply. "I don't know what a portal is, or a plane, or the Abyss. I wasn't aware of anyone around here who kept slaves in a tower. You must be from far away." Looking up at Valen, she saw a brief smile play across his face before it was replaced with a scowl.

"A plane is an infinite expanse of existence, centered around some ideological or physical reality. You can't cross a physical distance to travel from one to another, you must travel via portal or some type of planar conduit..." Valen chanced to look up at Anara as he tried to explain what a plane was, and saw that she was just as confused as she was before. "I realize it may be difficult for you to understand, living where you do, but there are other worlds than this. Other creatures inhabit those worlds, and some of those creatures are creatures of ultimate evil, while some are creatures of ultimate good. Plus there are many, many in between: all trying to live their lives and eek out an existence where they are. All these worlds are connected: it is possible to travel from one to another. It's just not easy." A sigh escaped his lips. "I don't think I can explain it any better than that."

"So, you come from another world, not just another village or somewhere even further away?" Anara was trying to make sense of all of this, but she was tired and it was too much to take in all at once.

"Yes, that's right. I am a tiefling: part demon, part human. I grew up in Sigil: city of doors. Sigil is even harder to explain than the planes, but it is a great city balanced on top of the Spire. Many, many types of creatures and peoples live in Sigil. Demons and celestials walk the streets everyday. I was orphaned as a young boy and forced to live on the streets. I avoided being killed or captured for a long time. But Grimash't, a balor, finally managed to snatch me took me to his tower in the Abyss 5 years ago. I have been his slave ever since. Some day I will kill him for it." As he spoke, he became angrier and angrier.

Anara was looking at Valen's face as he talked. She saw him get madder and madder: anger taking over his self control. The color of his eyes went from ice blue to blue tinged with red. She got up out of her chair and backed up against the wall. This man frightened her. He seemed to be made of rage and pain and she didn't know what to do. Valen stood up and walked around the room, his tail lashing and his eyes a dull red. She stood by the wall, trying to avoid his looks when he bothered to glance at her.

"Yes," Valen growled, "Grimash't will come for me. I haven't got the weapons to fight him, so he will capture me and take me back. I will be put back into that prison and be forced to fight in the blood war!" He spit a little as he ranted. Then, faster than she could have thought possible, he crossed the distance between them and wrapped his hands around her neck. "It's your fault, if you had let me die in that forest, there would be nothing for him to take back! I expected to die there and end this suffering!" His eyes were completely red – heat was emanating off his body and he looked like someone possessed.

Anara looked down at him as he lifted her up from the ground. Was she finally going to get her wish for death? Even now she couldn't breathe: her lungs were gasping for air but the hold on her throat was too tight. She felt the blackness coming in around the edges of her vision. If he kept it up, she would pass out soon and it would all be over. Then, as suddenly as he'd gone mad, the red disappeared from his eyes and he lowered her back to the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and then he went into her bedroom and shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Anara slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. Her whole body was shaking. Outside, the birds sang, insects chirped to each other and the day went on as normal. Inside, death was hiding in the form of a man in her bedroom. She had saved his life, when he had wanted to die. Would he seek some revenge on her? She couldn't say she wouldn't do the same in his position.

Once the shaking stopped, she got up from the floor and busied herself with tidying up in the kitchen. Grabbing a bucket, she went out to the barn to do some chores. She found herself absently talking to Violet and stroking her when she heard a rider in the yard. The sun was high in the sky as she walked out of the door. Her eyes fell upon the rider, and the rider was Dayfid.

"How's the cow, Anara?" he asked, dismounting from his horse.

"She's fine, thank you." She tried to act nonchalant and she took the reins of his horse and tied them to a post.

Dayfid walked over to her and asked, "Can I see the cow? It's my right as her savior, you know." He winked at her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Sure, you can see her. She's right in the barn." She began walking towards the barn, Dayfid in tow. Too late she realized that the stall with all the bloody bandages was in plain view. She rushed over and shut the gate to the stall, then went over to her cow. "See, she's just fine," Anara said nervously, hoping he hadn't noticed the mess in the other stall.

He looked at the cow, and then at her. "Yes, she looks fine. In fact, you can't even tell she was sick." He focused a piercing gaze at her. "Anara, what is going on out here? You are acting strangely. Well, more strangely than you have since Liam's death. You come into town after a healing phial, but your cow seems fine."

"That's because of the healing phial, Dayfid," she snapped at him.

"No, it's not. Don't try to fool me, I'm a healer, remember? I can tell when people are sick and injured. This cow was never sick. Nor were you. So who or what was the healing phial for?" His expression went from open and smiling to closed and grim. It pinned her to the spot: she couldn't move without giving herself away. Slowly she shifted her weight back and forth between her two feet.

"Dayfid, please don't make me tell you. For the sake of our friendship, and anything else it could have been, please don't make me tell you," she said, her voice small and hard. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading him to just leave it alone.

He looked at her, taking in her pleading stance and what she'd asked. He sighed, walked over to her and held her in his arms. He whispered in her ear, "Ok, I won't ask. For the sake of my feelings for you, I won't ask." He brushed her hair back from her face and held her at arm's length, giving her a hard look, "But promise me you aren't getting yourself into trouble."

She gave him a hug and said, "Thank you. But I can't promise you that which I don't know the answer to."

He looked down at her face, her beautiful face, and saw the remnants of tears there. He took in the fatigue in her eyes, the way her hair was mussed up, bits of hay still stuck in it, and the blood under her fingernails. There were marks that looked like fingers starting to purple on her neck. He looked around the barn and noticed the stall that she had hastily tried to conceal. Walking over to it he saw bloody rags and the remnants of food. Then he turned around and headed out the door of the barn. "Who is this person, Anara? If you're harboring a criminal…if he left those marks on your neck…"

"You said you wouldn't make me tell you," she begged him.

"That was before I saw that you were injured." He brushed away her hair and touched her neck lightly. The pressure made her wince with pain. Dayfid's eyes grew cold and hard, and he began walking towards the house.

"Don't! Please don't!" she cried, running after him.

"I've stood by and watched you spiral further and further down this self destructive path," he said. "I hoped that I could see you through it. That my love would be enough for you in the end. But now," he turned to face her, a finger pointing in her face. His face was red with fury and something else. "Now you have invited someone into your home who has hurt you. And that I will not allow. I'm going to see who this person is for myself. I'm not taking your word for it anymore."

The door swung open and Dayfid strode through it. Anara snuck in behind him and tried to circle around him to get in front of the bedroom door. But he was too quick. The bedroom door slammed open, and the cleric came face to face with Valen.

Valen was taller than Dayfid, and larger as well. But Dayfid had divine fury and the element of surprise backing him up, and the larger man seemed to quail a little in front of the cleric. Anara stepped in between them, trying to hold off any physical confrontation. Her only hope was that Dayfid would see reason before he tried something foolish. She didn't stand a chance of stopping either of them if it came to blows.

"Dayfid, please," she pleaded, trying to get him to look at her. But his eyes were fixated on the tiefling standing behind her. The two men stared at one another, the tension in the room ratcheting up with each silent moment that passed. Anara stood between them, a hand on each, trying to will them to speak with one another.

"And who are you?" Dayfid finally asked, his voice quiet and grim, but all of the power of his divine office behind it.

"Valen Shadowbreath."

"What are you?" he said, quieter and deadlier than before.

"A tiefling."

"Did you hurt Anara?"

Valen shrunk back down onto the bed. His head dropped and he starred at the floor. "Yes," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him. "For that I'm sorry."

Dayfid's hand drew back behind his head. His eyes rolled back and he began to chant some incantation when Anara pushed him down to the ground.

"You will not go slinging spells in this house!" she screamed at him. Her finger pointed back at Valen. "He said he was sorry! I accepted his apology. Anything else is none of your concern. If you truly want to be my friend, you will leave, now!"

The cleric stood up, brushing dust off his pants. "I only want you to be safe," he started. But Anara was pushing him out the door.

They stood out in the yard, the young woman glaring at the blonde haired man. She closed the distance between them and grabbed one of his hands. "I know you mean well, Dayfid. But please, I know what I'm doing. You have to trust me. Please don't do anything to hurt that man in there. He's been through enough."

"You win. I won't hurt him. I just don't want any harm to come to you. You're still so young. You have your whole life in front of you. I know it hasn't seemed that way since Liam was killed. I know you haven't wanted to live since he was found in the forest. But that fear and grief will subside eventually, and then you'll have to continue on with your life. I only hope," he swallowed hard. He didn't know if he could say this to her. "I only hope you'll allow me to be a part of your life, once you realize you have one to live." He caught her up in an embrace and kissed her forehead.

Anara heard him mount his horse and leave. She sighed heavily and sat on the ground. She had known, of course, that Dayfid loved her. That he would love her no matter what foolishness she got up to. She didn't deserve his love. She didn't deserve his kindness, either. She sat out in the yard with her arms around her knees, rocking. She was lost in a miasma of grief, but this time no tears would come.

When she finally got a hold of herself, she went back to the barn and finished her chores. The work freed her mind up so she could think about what she was doing. There was a man who was part demon, but mostly human, sitting in her house this very moment. A man who had threatened her life, but whom she wanted to protect. She didn't believe he really meant to harm her. Then there was Dayfid. Her feelings about him had always been mixed, and today did nothing to clarify anything. So she busied herself tidying up the barn while she avoided thinking about the deeper problems in her life, and why she kept putting herself into harms way.

When there were no more tasks to be done, and the sun was starting to set, she went back into the house. Valen was sitting at the kitchen table, in front of a meal he had prepared. There was a setting for her as well. Frozen with the remnants of the fear she'd felt earlier, she stood in the doorway, outlined by the setting sun.

He stood up. His eyes were downcast and his shoulders were slumped. He looked upset, or guilty. "I'm sorry about earlier. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me my anger. I would say I didn't know what came over me, but I'd be lying. It's my demonic heritage. I tried for years to suppress it, but living in the Abyss has brought it out more strongly. I fixed you dinner to apologize." He looked at her and flashed a tentative and disarming smile.

She walked over to the table and sat down, her hands automatically going to her neck. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had sat back down and was tucking into the food with abandon. He seemed normal now. His eyes had lost the red glow of earlier, and his anger seemed to be in check. He seemed genuinely sorry for having tried to strangle her.

"Thanks for fixing dinner, Valen," she said, giving him a shy glance.

Don't thank me until you've tried it," he warned. Then he shot her a smile. The smile made him look more human than she had seen him look in the few short days he'd been here. He looked young – probably only a year or two older than she was. Then silence descended upon them both while they ate.

"Well, that was very good," she said when she'd finished. She stood and began clearing the dishes. She felt his hand on hers and she looked up at him.

"Let me clean up," he said. "I owe you for saving my life. And I'm still really sorry about what I did earlier. There's no excuse for that." Anara sat down in front of the fire and stared into the flames. When he was finished, he sat on the couch near her. There was no where else to sit, except the floor. They sat there, staring into the fire for a long time. The silence between them expanded until it seemed to fill the whole house. There were questions that begged to be asked, and answers that should be given, but still the quiet remained. After all that had happened, she decided to start with a simple question, rather than the heavier ones that would undoubtedly come later.

"How old are you, anyway?" she asked quietly.

"I'm not exactly sure, but I believe I'm around 19 or 20 years old," said Valen. "How about you? How old are you? You seem young to be a widow and own a farm."

"I'm 18. I was married at 17, widowed at 17. My husband was killed out in the woods where I found you." Anara went back to staring in the fire. The flames were hypnotic. Now they came to the meat of it: the reason for her 'self destructive behavior'. The hard questions would come, and she was ready to answer them.

"What happened?" he asked, the question there at last.

"Liam was out checking traps. He was gone all day and all night. When he didn't return the next morning I went out looking for him and found his mutilated body on the trail through the woods. I brought Dayfid out to heal him, but it was too late." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I couldn't save him. Maybe if I'd gone out looking for him earlier, I could have. Maybe…" she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. God, she was tired of crying, but the tears just kept coming.

OOO

At first, Valen didn't know what to do with the crying young woman sitting next to him. She seemed so lonely and sad. He certainly understood both of those emotions. He reached over and pulled her into his arms. Then he held her while she sobbed. He stroked her hair and whispered that it was going to be all right. She snuck her arms around his chest and leaned into him. She didn't hold back – she cried until she couldn't anymore. He just let her. It seemed to be what she needed, the comfort of someone holding her while she grieved for her lost husband.

When she no longer shook with sobs, she stayed there leaning against him. In a hoarse, quiet voice she said, "I'm sorry. You must think I'm terribly silly. I'm constantly breaking into tears around you. It's just that, I haven't let myself…"

"It's all right, Anara," said Valen softly. "You're grieving. You're allowed to cry. It's a very human thing to do." He looked into the fire. "I myself am past that. Since Grimash't captured me my life has been torment and pain. No one has shown me any kindness, until you. You can't know how much that means to me." He looked deep into her eyes. "I can't begin to thank you. Not only for saving my life, but for bringing me back from the brink. Grimash't is trying to coax out my demonic side. All the fighting, the torture – it's all calculated to turn me into a raving beast, fit only for destruction. When I went through that portal, I only hoped to die away from the madness and chaos of the Abyss. But you saved me. You had your own reasons for it, but I will never forget."

Anara looked at Valen: there was so much raw emotion in his expression. She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingers. She followed the line of his cheekbone down to his mouth. She put her hands around the back of his neck. "Kiss me," she said.

Valen looked at her. "What?" he asked, surprised.

"Don't talk, don't question. Just kiss me. Make me forget," Anara breathed.

Valen leaned down to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. He tried to pull back, but Anara's hands moved around the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers again. This time, she kissed him. Feverishly, she kissed him deeper and deeper. Valen put his hands around her back. He found himself returning her kisses. He pulled her over onto his lap. They sat there on the couch, kissing and touching, for a long time. Anara pulled back and said, "Take me to the bedroom." Valen opened his mouth to protest, but Anara silenced him with her finger. "Don't talk, don't question. Just do it."

Valen picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He did as she asked – he didn't question her. He didn't talk. He let his passion and his hormones take over. Anara gave herself up to it, and pushed any guilt she was feeling down deep into the recesses of her soul. She knew that in the morning, she'd feel really bad about what was happening in here tonight. But for now she was lost in the moment: she was forgetting, and that was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an old habit, to roll over in her sleep and put her arm around the person next to her. For the past year her arm had curled around empty space and blanket, clutching at nothing and finally falling to the bed. This morning as her arm moved in its familiar pattern, it connected with a body. She woke instantly and looked next to her in the bed, her heart beating double time. No, it wasn't Liam. Of course it wasn't Liam; he had been dead for a year. It was that creature she found in the forest – what was his name? Valen. A tiefling. She remembered now. Then the memories of what had gone on the previous night flooded back into her along with a great deal of guilt.

She clambered out of bed, looking around the floor for her clothes. They were in a pile near the bed, making it easy to grab them and scamper into the other room. She stood by the now cold hearth, panting. Quickly she slipped on her breeches and tunic and went outside. Pacing back and forth in the yard, she thought, "What in the hell possessed me last night? Maybe I was seduced somehow." But as soon as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. She had been the aggressor last night. The poor man lying in her bed was probably more confused than she was.

Out of the corner of her eye the barn beckoned with its silent call. Not only did she need to care for her livestock, she needed something to do, so she could think through what had happened. She had been grieving over Liam last night. In her grief, she had reached out for the only thing there that could make her forget. That's what had happened. Nothing else. It wasn't as if she loved that man in her house. Or even really felt anything for him. He was just conveniently there when she needed someone. It could just as well have been Dayfid, had he been with her last night. At least Valen wouldn't confuse the issue, as Dayfid would. Dayfid loved her: she knew that. If she had slept with him, things would have gotten very complicated, very quickly. "Thank the gods for small favors," she said to herself as she brushed Violet down.

Anara finished up her chores in the barn, grabbed a bucket of water from the well and went inside. Valen was sitting at the table, staring at her intently. "Um, hello." She said, the forgotten bucket of water sloshing at her side, "I feel a little foolish…"

"About last night…"

They both smiled. "You first," Valen said, his intense blue eyes making her squirm.

She set the bucket on the counter. "I'm sorry I took advantage of you last night. I was just feeling so lonely, and I wanted to be with someone. I hope you don't think less of me." Anara busied herself with the fire. That man's stare was intense. She felt guilty already; his gaze made her feel like she was under a magnifying lens and it was concentrating the guilt into a small hot spot.

"I was going to apologize for the same thing," Valen said calmly. "I thought I was taking advantage of you. I'm sorry. I hope you don't hate me."

"I don't hate you." Her hands went up to her bruised neck. "I'm a little scared of you when you're angry, though. Look, obviously we're both a little uncomfortable about what we, ah, did last night. So let's not talk about it anymore, ok?" Anara held out her hand. Valen took it, then before she could let go he brought it up to his lips and kissed it. He looked up at Anara. She couldn't tell what emotion was behind the look he was giving her. She decided that she couldn't afford to care.

"My lady, I don't hate you. I'm not uncomfortable about what happened last night, either. But if you would rather not discuss it, I will bow to your wishes."

Anara gave him a brief smile, and then started preparing breakfast. As she was getting the griddle ready in the hearth, she heard someone out in the yard. She peered out the window and saw Dayfid with a wagon. "Why can't that man just leave me alone!" she groaned. She turned to Valen.

"Perhaps you should go into the bedroom until he's gone. I don't know if he'll get mad again or not. Sometimes he's a little unpredictable."

Valen gave her a funny look, then walked into the bedroom and gently shut the door. He walked quietly over to the window and hazarded a glance out. The man hopped out of the wagon, ran a hand through his blonde hair and grabbed a package out of the back. He began to walk towards the small house.

Valen stepped back from the window and moved closer to the door so he could hear the conversation between Dayfid and Anara.

She was still busily cooking breakfast in the other room. It served as a distraction from the confrontation that was looming. The door resounded with a loud knock.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's Dayfid. May I come in?"

"Yes."

He walked in the door and set the package he was carrying on the floor. Looking around the room, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He had been to Anara's home many times in the past year, and it still looked the same. The only difference was the bedroom door was closed. Usually she left it open – for the extra light from the window in there. He shook his head. The tiefling must be in there.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

Dayfid smiled at her. Even in her grief, she is beautiful, he thought. If only she had consented to marry him, instead of Liam, she wouldn't be suffering now. But that was the past, and for all the gold in the world it couldn't be changed. "I brought you some supplies. I thought you might need some extra."

Anara stopped what she was doing, turned around and gave Dayfid a steely gaze. "I appreciate that, but I could have come into the village to get supplies, if I needed them. You didn't have to ride all the way out here."

"Well, I felt otherwise. I'm worried about you. Are you alright? There aren't any, ah, problems, are there?" He looked at the bedroom door, and then back at her face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together. She was mad.

"I'm fine. In fact, I haven't felt this good in a while." Anara put the food she'd prepared on the table and stepped over to stand right in front of him. "I have finally begun to see that there is a way out of the darkness that I've been trapped in. I know it's going to take some time for me to find my way out, but the way is clear. I still grieve for my lost husband, but I am dealing with that now. I am no longer trying to hide from it."

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Dayfid began.

"Shhh. It's over and done with. Look, I found him in the forest a few days ago. He was dying. I had to save him, and I think you understand why."

Dayfid's eyes went to the door.

"I promised your parents that I would look after you. If something happens to you they'll be most upset with me. They…"

"My parents gave up any claim to me when I married Liam." Anara turned around and walked back towards the hearth. "I know they wanted me to follow them in their worship of Chantea, and become a druid. I walked that path for a while. But I chose this life." She whirled around again, pointing a finger at Dayfid. "I do not worship the Great Mother anymore. Not after what happened last year! I can't! My choices are my own to make. Nothing you say can change that. Just accept that I no longer follow the calling. Someday, maybe, I will go back to it. But I can't right now." She dropped her hands by her side. "Thank you for the supplies, Dayfid. I think you should go now."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and said, "I will see you tomorrow. If you don't come into the village by noon, I will be out here." He glanced meaningfully at the door. "I just want you to be safe."

"I will come to the village, then. Please go." She took a step back and wrapped her arms around her waist. She watched him turn around and go out the door. The sound of the wagon moving down the road made her feel relieved. The bedroom door creaked open. She looked at Valen, smiled, and said, "Breakfast is ready. It might not be as warm as it could be, but…"

"Why are you doing this? Why are you risking everything to help me - someone you don't even know? Someone who has already proven to you," Valen pointed to her neck, "how dangerous he is? Aren't you taking a huge risk, harboring me here?"

"It's my risk to take. It's a risk I have to take." She sat down at the table. "I haven't really been living since my husband was killed." She swallowed hard to keep the grief at bay. "Since I rescued you in the forest, I have felt like my life had some purpose – even if it was only to heal you. I needed to have some reason to live. Before I found you, I was on a path that was going to end in my own death. I wanted to die. Part of me still does. And while the grief still smothers me, there are moments where I can breathe through it, and things don't seem quite so dark and hopeless." She looked at Valen, tears shining in her eyes. "I have you to thank for that. So even though I am, as you say, risking everything to help you, if I don't take the risk, I will lose it all." It amazed her that it seemed so much easier to talk to this complete stranger than to those that were close to her. It was the first time she'd spoken of how she felt to anyone.

Valen sat down at the table. "I can't lie to you, Anara. There is a real possibility that when Grimash't finds me, he'll take you too. You may lose it all anyway. Believe me, to be a slave to a demon in the Abyss is worse than dying. You will come to hate me if he finds us here and takes us both." Valen turned his head and looked out the window into the yard. It was beautiful here. The places he'd been didn't have a sky in the normal sense, and the air was often foul and poisonous. The sun here made things a little bright for his taste, but then he wouldn't be here long enough to get used to that. He sighed and looked at his hands.

"You know, Valen, we really ought to get you into some decent clothing." Anara said, looking steadily at him. He met her gaze. She was smiling. "I have some in my room that might fit you. Some shirts, at least. I don't know about the pants. You're a lot taller than Liam was. But maybe we can find something. Come on." She stood up, clearly expecting him to follow her into the bedroom.

Once inside, Anara opened a chest at the foot of the bed. Inside were the types of things you'd expect to see – quilts, some extra pillows, and way in the bottom, some men's clothes.

"I couldn't bear to give them away after he died. I took them out of the wardrobe, because I couldn't stand to see them either. But I kept them. I used to pull them out and smell them. They smelled like him, you see, for a while. But then the smell went away and I washed them and put them in here. Now," she held up a shirt. "I think this might fit. Try it on please."

Valen put the light blue cambric shirt on. The wounds on his back, while healed, were stiff. The shirt fit, although it was a little tight through the chest. He moved his arms back and forth experimentally. Anara walked around him to check the fit in the back.

"Well, I think that will have to do," she said. "It's the largest one I can find. Maybe I could alter a couple of the others. Pants, on the other hand, will be more difficult. You're a good 6-8 inches taller than Liam was." She pulled out a pair of pants and handed them to him, then left the room. He tried them on. These most definitely did not fit. They were too small in the waist and much too short. He put his old pants back on and walked out into the other room.

"Those pants are too short and I couldn't fasten them in the waist. I can wear what I have on. I'm sure I won't be here long anyway." He looked at Anara and shook his head. "There is something else I must tell you," he said.

"Well, spit it out," she said.

"Grimash't placed a sigil of finding on me some time ago. He can track where I am through it. And through the sigil, I have a connection with him. He'll send someone to get me, or he'll come himself. If I am to ever be free of him, I have to find a way to get rid of it. I'm going to need your help."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to cut it off me," he said. Then he pulled down the top of his breeches to show her the tattoo on his lower back. It was dark red, like a welt, and the pattern was strange. There was an X with a circle around it, and then lines radiating outward from the circle. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of it.

"Will cutting it off remove it?" she asked.

"I don't know. But it's worth trying," he said as he pulled his breeches back up.

The room was silent as Valen awaited her answer. It wasn't really her decision to make. She would do it if he wanted her to.

Hesitantly she asked, "Are you sure? That's going to hurt – a lot."

"It's the only thing I can think of at this moment. The sooner the better. Otherwise we'll have more than pain to contend with. He's probably already sent someone out on my trail. It's only a matter of time before they find me."

"Ok," she said and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get some things together so we can do it properly."

So the plan was to cut a piece of skin off his back. What would she need? Some kind of anesthetic to take away some of the pain; clean linens or bandages, and a sharp knife. Did she have a sharp knife? Surely there had to be one around from Liam's trapping days.

The list in her mind, she set off to find the items, leaving Valen sitting at the kitchen table. This plan was insane. More so because she wasn't sure she could actually bring herself to slice off a chunk of his back. But it was what he wanted her to do, and he had a good reason, sure enough.

An hour later they both sat at the kitchen table. The sun was blazing through the window and illuminating the tiefling where he sat, making him look more like an angel than a demon. In front of him was Anara's last bottle of grain alcohol. It had been full when she placed it in front of him, and now the level was sitting at around ¾ full. He was starting to sway a little in his seat and his eyes had taken on a rheumy look.

"Drink one more cup, and I think you'll be pretty numb," she said, trying to stifle a laugh as the man almost knocked the cup over.

"I think I'm pretty numb already," he said, his words slightly slurred. "Did I really have to drink this?" He poured some more alcohol into his cup, the look on his face one of utmost concentration. Still, the tip of the bottle barely lined up with the cup and some sloshed onto the table. Then he grasped the handle like a drowning man clutches a life preserver and drank the contents.

Anara smiled to herself. It was amusing to watch someone else getting drunk for a change. But the task he had asked her to do for him was anything but easy. She had done her share of skinning animals back when Liam had trapped. Since his death, she'd been forced to do a little trapping of her own; both for the meat of the animals and the money the pelts would bring. But the animals were dead when she skinned them. Skinning a live man, even if it was a small part of that man, wasn't going to be so easy. She sighed and set her resolve to do the task, then got up and helped Valen stand up.

"Easy there, big fella," she said as he almost came crashing to the floor. "Just try to stand for a minute." She turned his chair around so the back faced the table. "Sit down with your chest to the back of the chair."

He was so grateful to sit down and stop the incessant spinning of the room that he didn't question the placement of the chair. "Did you know that the room is shpinning?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure it is." Then she took the knife she'd found in the barn and poked the tip of it into his bare back. He didn't flinch or make a sound. The alcohol had done its job – he was as numb as he was going to get.

"Ok. Grab the back of the chair with both hands and try to hold still. This is going to hurt – a lot. Hopefully the alcohol will help, but once I start cutting into you, it won't be enough." She took a swig of the bottle for herself, just to strengthen her will for the upcoming ordeal.

Knife in one hand, clean cloth in another, she kneeled behind Valen. The sigil on his back was probably 2 inches in diameter. She placed the newly sharpened knife at the top of the mark, her hand wavering a little. Then she set her shoulders back and began to cut.

The man in front of her stiffened, his hands clenching the chair with a silent ferocity. His breathing became harsh and deep, but he remained still. His drunkenness seemed to burn away with the pain the knife was inflicting on his already tortured back. The mark was halfway off, and the blood was welling up and starting to drip. She patted it to keep it from running down his back and tickling him, if he could even feel that over the pain. Then it was done – the mark was off and she held a flap in his skin in her hand.

"Ok, that's it. You can move now, if you like." She stood up went to the sink to wash her hands in the bucket there. Valen didn't move. His face was ashen and he looked as if he might be sick. Then he let out a piercing yell that sounded as if all the dogs of Hell were on his trail.

Quickly she spun around and went to his side. "What is it?" she asked, touching his face. It was cold and clammy, but his eyes… his eyes were tinged with red and full of fury. He was still breathing fast and heavy, and his hands were clenching and unclenching around the back of the chair in front of him. There was no trace of the drink in him anymore.

"My back," he growled.

She walked around behind him and looked at the spot where she had so recently been cutting. The skin had grown back and the mark was etching itself back into his skin. Only now it was larger than it had been, and the red lines of the design pulsed with a sick energy.

"Oh Great Mother," she said as she sank to her knees. "I'm so sorry. Does it hurt?" She moved back to the table so she could see his face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his face was contorted in a grimace of pain. She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to pass some comfort to him but feeling useless. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's not your fault," he said through clenched teeth. "I wasn't sure it would work, but it seemed like the simplest thing to try."

She hazarded another glance at the growing mark. The throbbing had stopped, and the area looked like nothing had ever happened. There were no cut marks or ragged seams. All that was left to show anything had happened at all was some dried blood.

Valen was standing and stretching his arms. His face was no longer knotted in a scowl of pain and he was wiping away the tears from his cheeks. "The pain, it's… it's gone," he said. Then a huge sigh escaped from his lips, his whole body sagging with the release of it. The red was gone from his eyes and sadness replaced the fury that had been there.

"There's nothing for it, then," he said, catching up Anara's hands in his. He caught her eyes too and said, "Now we'll just have to find a mage."


	6. Chapter 6

**Secrets**

The sun was casting long shadows into Anara's home before either she or Valen were moved to speak again. The first hour after they realized his mark had grown back he had been strangely silent, his head on the table and his shoulders shaking with what appeared to be silent tears. Anara had busied herself cleaning, straightening and otherwise attending to her household. She figured he needed some time to digest what had happened. Or not happened, as the case was.

The fire was low in the grate and there was no more wood in the house. She went outside to bring some in. When she walked through the door, Valen was sitting up and staring at her; his intense blue eyes burning like the sun.

"Do you know a mage?" he asked, his voice a mere croak.

She set the wood down in front of the fire, placing a few logs in and poking the embers into life. Flames began to curl around the new wood, and soon they were catching on fire. She turned then to find him still staring at her.

"No."

His shoulders slumped as the hope flew out of him. He held his head in his hands, despairing of ever being free from the clutches of the Balor. It was only a matter of time before someone or something showed up to claim him for Grimash't.

"Wait," Anara said, a thoughtful and far away look on her face. She bit her nails as she thought, and then she said, "I don't know a mage, but I know someone who might."

Valen raised his head up from the table, his arms splayed out in front of him. "Who?" he asked.

"Her name is Rothol. She is a hedge witch out in the forest. She deals in potions and charms for the locals, and I've seen her come into town once or twice to set up some wards. If anyone in the area knows, she would."

Valen perked up a little at the news. It was a start. It was better than having nothing. "Great. How long will it take to get to her house?"

Anara paused in biting her nails and looked up at him, a little startled. "Well, that's the problem. I don't exactly know where she is. But I suspect my friend Cara does."

"So all we have to do is talk to this Cara person and find out where the witch lives?" he said.

"It's not that simple. Cara probably won't admit to knowing where Rothol lives. You see, a few years ago Cara fell hard for a man that wouldn't give her the time of day. She became obsessed with him – she followed him around, she tried seducing him, tried everything she could to get him to notice her. Finally, one night, after a town dance, she point blank asked him to bed her. He turned her down. Said he wasn't interested in her – told her she wasn't pretty enough for the likes of him." Anara took a deep breath and put her hands into her lap to avoid chewing on her nails.

Confusion reigned over Valen's face. It was obvious that he didn't see where the story was going. Anara smiled at him.

"I suspect that Cara must have gone to Rothol for a love tincture, because just a few days after that dance the object of her affections was seen following her around with puppy dog eyes and begging her to be his wife. I sat up with her after that dance – she was devastated that he wanted nothing to do with her. And she was mad that he had the gall to tell her she wasn't pretty enough. Most of the men in town think she's the prettiest woman around. So something pretty drastic must have happened to change his mind."

"So you don't think she'll tell you where this Rothol is, because then she'd have to admit that she's been to the woman's cottage," Valen said, trying to piece the story together in his mind.

"Right. And admitting that she's been there, if it gets around, could have some very nasty consequences for her. Everyone in town knew she adored Jacen, and that he didn't return her affections. The abrupt turn around was noticed by more than just me. People speculated for months that she had gone to the witch's place or something even more sinister. It's a small town – people gossip. Now she's pregnant and Jacen, the few times I've seen him since Liam's death, walks around with the look of a trapped animal."

"And this woman is your friend? She's probably enslaved that man to a life he didn't want to live!" The tiefling rose up out of his seat and began pacing around the small kitchen area. "I can't believe…"

"It's a small community, you can't be too picky about who your friends are. Besides, I haven't had any friends since Liam died. I hadn't even been into town until two days after I dragged you back here from the forest. I don't agree with what she did. I haven't really spoken with her since. So don't go getting all high and mighty on me. I'm just telling you the story so you know the difficulty I could have trying to get the location of Rothol's cottage."

"Surely there are others who know where the witch lives?" he asked, stopping next to her in his path across the floor.

"There is no one who will admit to knowing the location of her cottage. Everyone in the village is ashamed of her: they think it will bring shame to them to admit they used her concoctions."

"Does your friend Dayfid know?"

"Ha! Even if he did, which I seriously doubt, he would be the last person in town to admit it. Even to me, he would keep that a secret. No, Cara is the best chance we have if we want to find out where she is, short of running into Rothol in town."

He was standing right behind her, the heat coming off his body a palpable thing. For a moment, her breath quickened – she remembered what it was like to have a man in the house. The musky smell of him after a hard days work; his strong hands kneading her shoulders; the way his kiss could make her weak in the knees. And here was another man, standing right next to her, that same musky odor filling her nostrils.

Then the moment was gone and she came back to herself. "I'll saddle up Violet and ride into town. If anyone can get Cara to talk, it's me. You'll have to stay here." Then Anara arose from her spot at the table and walked out the door without a second glance behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Directions**

Cara had married well. Whatever had happened – whether she had wooed the man successfully or used a potion to entice him into love, she had chosen him carefully. Anara knew that Cara had honestly been madly in love with Jacen. But that didn't make what she did right. Suppressing a sigh, she walked up to the ornate door that led into Cara's home and knocked.

She was invited in, offered tea and cakes and shown a seat in the sitting room. Looking around, Anara had to admire Cara's tastes in furnishings. There were burgundy drapes over the windows, tied back with gold cords. The divan was the same burgundy and made of velvet, with cushions and throw pillows in gold and tan. A fire crackled in the fireplace that was in the center of the room, adding warmth to the scene.

There was an expensive looking carpet in the center of the room in the same color scheme, and paintings of Cara and Jacen adorned the walls. The tea service was made of silver, and Anara was just admired the scrollwork on the cups when Cara entered the room.

"Anara! It's so good to see you!" Cara exclaimed as she awkwardly walked into the room, her pregnant belly jutting before her. She held a hand to her back and squatted slowly down into a high backed chair upholstered in tan velvet. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" she asked.

"Can't I just come to see an old friend before her confinement?" she asked coyly. Cara was too smart to fall for it, but it was worth a try.

"Anara, no one has seen you in town since Liam died. At least, until a few days ago when you rode up to the temple. I don't know what you were after, but since that visit Dayfid's been distracted. What's going on?"

"I never could fool you," Anara said with a shake of her head. "I was out riding in the forest a few days back and came across a man who needed some healing. He's recuperating at my house. That's why I'd gone to Dayfid – for some healing potions."

"A man? Oh, do give details! I'm so tired of pacing the floors of this house and hearing no news. Is he attractive? Do you fancy him?" Cara's face was all aglow at the prospect of hearing some juicy gossip to pass on through town.

"I … I hadn't really thought of him that way," Anara said. She looked down at the cup in her hands. "I still grieve for Liam," she added.

Cara smiled at her friend. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. Anara saw her chance to embellish the truth a little and maybe pry the location of Rothol's cottage out of the woman.

"Well, this grief I carry has been overwhelming. I haven't been able to function. I'm surprised that Violet is still with me, since I can barely take care of myself, let alone any of the animals. I let many of them go."

Cara tsked in sympathy. "I'd heard you gave all of your sheep to Farmer Granger," she said.

"Yes. It seemed easier that way. I kept Violet, and one of the dairy cows, a few chickens. But that was it. They are almost more than I was able to care for."

"So what do you need from me?" she asked.

"I know this is a … sensitive topic. But I want to find Rothol and see if she can mix me a tincture to dispel this miasma of grief I've been under. It's time for me to start living my life again, and I just can't shake this depression." A tear rolled down Anara's cheek, giving life to the lie she'd concocted.

"Oh …" Cara stammered, looking trapped. "Why …" and she was silent for a few moments. "I'll help you, Anara, but please don't tell anyone I know where Rothol is. You know what they already say about me, but it's just not true! I didn't buy a love tincture from her!" Cara was desperate for Anara to believe her.

"It doesn't matter to me, Cara," Anara said. "If you know how I can find her, please tell me."

"Well, take the trade road out of town up into the hills. As you come to the top of Watchman's hill, there's a path on the left. Take it. Follow it until you see a grouping of 3 large boulders. In between them is another path, although it's hard to see. Take it to her cottage. When you reach the clearing where she lives, you have to say, "Winds caress the trees". Then she'll see you."

Anara got up and walked to her friend, enveloping her in a brisk hug. "Thank you, Cara," she whispered into the woman's ear. Then she was gone, walking out of the room, out of the house and out of Cara's life forever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Surprise Reunion**

When Anara left on the horse to speak with her friend in town, Valen began searching around the house and the barn for something that could be used as a weapon. He was a fighter, and he felt naked without a weapon in his hands. The search of the house turned up nothing useful. Short of breaking some furniture and using the legs of a chair for a club, there was nothing.

The yard wasn't any better. He knew that she and her husband were farmers, and as such probably didn't own anything on par with a longsword or a flail. But he did expect that they would have some kind of sharp farming implements: scythes, pitchforks, something.

Finally in a seldom used corner of the barn, he found what he was looking for. As he pulled the scythe of the wall, he noted that although the blade was dull there was no rust. It would be serviceable if he could sharpen it up. He began a new search for a sharpening stone. He walked around the barn, looking through drawers and chests. The cow watched him with her mournful brown eyes.

Shoved away in a forgotten tool chest was a whetstone and some oil. Grabbing these items, Valen stepped out into the yard. He found a log to sit on and began slowly sharpening the scythe. The sun was shining and the air was warm, but not hot. Birds sang and squirrels chattered in the nearby trees. It was pleasant. It was something he'd never experienced in the Abyss, or even in Sigil. There was nothing to compare to this place: how much would he miss this place when he was gone?

The stone dragging across the blade of the scythe made a comforting 'swick' sound. He sat there, his mind focused on the task of sharpening the blade. A loud pop came from the woods, a sound like lightening racing through the heavens. He was so absorbed in his task, that he almost didn't hear it. Something made him look up though, and he saw what the spell had brought to him.

The creature walking into the yard would be mistaken as a woman by most. She had black hair and dark eyes that offset her pale skin. Her figure was curvaceous and tantalizing. The black leather armor she wore didn't leave much to the imagination. She was beautiful by anyone's standards. And everywhere she went a faint smell of lavender followed. A small pair of wings emerged from her back as she took to the air and landed directly in front of him.

"Ah, Valen. Just the yummy tiefling I've been searching for," she said, her voice a sigh that sent chills up and down his spine. Fortunately, he'd dealt with her before and was resistant to her charms.

"Syhadeen. I figured Grimash't would send someone after me, but I didn't know who he'd send first. Still doing his dirty work, are you?" He dragged the stone across the blade, putting an even finer edge on the scythe. _Swick_.

"But he always has the most _interesting_ assignments. I'd chase after you for free. The fact that he's paying me just made this little job too hard to resist." She took a step closer to him, desire smoldering in her eyes. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, a move that usually got a man's attention.

"Don't bother trying your charms on me, Syhadeen. You aren't a full blown succubus. You are still half human. And I know what you are. Your wiles won't work on me." He met her eyes, still drawing the stone across the blade. _Swick_.

The alu-fiend reached up a clawed hand to stroke his cheek. Valen flinched, stepping back over the log and hoisting the scythe up into a fighting stance. Syhadeen hissed and stepped back, barring her teeth.

"Are you sure you can't be tempted, _grokmal_? We could have so much fun…" she purred at Valen, leaning over a little and shaking her hip at him in a suggestive fashion.

"It would be fun right up until you sucked away my life essence. Then I'm afraid the enjoyment would be gone for me. No, I'll have to decline your offer." He brought the scythe up in front of him, giving it a flourish to show his intentions if she stayed. He didn't expect her to. She wasn't one for a direct fight – her tactics were to seduce and destroy. It was something she was quite good at.

The fiend shook her head, her raven hair glowing in the sunlight. "It's too bad it has to be this way, grokmal. Coupling would be so much more fun…" With that she pulled a dagger from her waist, its blade cruel and twisted. The blade rose up into the sunlight and she uttered an ear piercing scream and ran at the tiefling.

As she rushed him, Valen brought the scythe down in an arc to slice across her chest. The blade was sharp and cut deeply into her torso. He stepped aside as she kept charging, her momentum carrying her over the log and to the spot where he had been standing. As her back was to him, he thrust down again. This time he left a deep gouge in her back. He stepped back again, kicking the log out of the way.

She turned around, fury in her eyes. Her wings furled out and she took to the sky, kicking Valen in the head as she did so. Then she dove down on his position, the dagger pointed at his chest.

At the last minute he reached up with the scythe, trying to cut her down out of the air. If she continued to attack from that position, she would have the upper hand. But he knew that her stamina wouldn't hold long for an aerial fight. That and the fact that normally she didn't fight hand to hand at all made him think she was just about done.

He was right. She landed on her feet in front of him, breathing heavily. The dagger disappeared into her belt and she gave him a mock bow. "Once again your prowess proves itself. I cannot match you on your terms, and you will not agree to mine. Farewell, Valen Shadowbreath. Know that I am only the first he has sent against you. There will be others. They will not be as easily dispatched as me. You would have done better to deal with me." Then she disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the faint scent of lavender drifting in the air behind her.

The shaft of the scythe came to rest on the ground. He wasn't even breathing hard. It was too easy. She was just here to see where he was. There would be others: she was right about that. He looked up to find Anara sitting on her horse, staring at him in fear.

OOO

Anara made her way back to the farm, pleased that she had managed to get the information she wanted out of Cara with so little prodding. She could get some things together and they could be off to see the witch tomorrow, if need be. There were the animals to provide for, and the house needed to be shuttered up if they were going to be gone for a while.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she wanted to go with the tiefling. It wasn't just because he seemed to need her: she honestly wanted to go. It had been too long since she'd been out in the world, and she was ready for a trip. Maybe she'd even find her parents. Maybe not. They would only try and entice her back into their world. She wasn't ready for that.

The road took a turn right before the short path to her farm. As she rounded the curve, the sight that greeted her in her yard left her speechless.

A beautiful woman with wings was hovering in the air above Valen. She dove at him, the sunlight glinting off something in her hands. Valen swiped at her with a scythe and then she landed. A loud crack reverberated through the air and the woman was gone. Anara sat there on Violet, her jaw dropping.

Valen turned to look at her, the scythe deadly looking in his hands. If she hadn't just seen that little tussle, she wouldn't have believed it. He had told her he was a fighter, but she hadn't stopped to think what that actually meant. Now she knew. He killed people. It was what he had done for years just to stay alive.

In silence she walked Violet to the barn, lost in her thoughts. The woman in the yard – had she come for him, like he'd said they would? She must have, because people around here didn't have wings. And she'd had this unearthly beauty that Anara had seldom seen. No, she definitely wasn't from around here.

Quiet with shock, Anara made her way out into her yard to stand in front of Valen. The scythe still dripped with blood. She tore her eyes away from the weapon to look at Valen's face. His expression was grim and determined. Here was the fighter that he'd told her he was. He was no longer the injured man she'd saved from certain death.

"What was that?" she croaked out, needing to know exactly what had transpired in her yard this afternoon.

"That was Syhadeen. She is an alu-fiend – a half demon woman," he said as he wiped the blade of the scythe on the grass. Then he sat down and began polishing and sharpening the edge again. The weapon still needed some work if it was going to be serviceable.

"But…" Anara stammered. "What was she doing here?" Adrenaline raced through her heart in fear of this man she'd taken into her home.

"Looking for me. I told you that they would come after me. She was just the first." He paused briefly and looked up at the pale woman in front of him. "I didn't kill her – she teleported out before I had the chance. You don't have to be afraid."

The yard hummed with the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds. The heat of the afternoon put a shimmer on everything, making it seem as if they were under water. Anara stood there, shocked into silence by what she had witnessed. Valen sat there, sharpening the blade on the scythe. It was real. He was a hunted man, and _things_ were coming after him. She wasn't sure now, that she would follow him.

What had seemed a good idea just 30 minutes ago now seemed like a bad idea with each passing moment. She couldn't fight – had never tried. If creatures were going to be following them, trying to kill Valen or capture him, there wasn't going to be much she could offer in the way of defense. And yet… he didn't know this world. Ack, Anara didn't know what to think or do.

"I got directions to Rothol's place. We can leave now, or wait until morning. It's still early enough in the afternoon, I reckon we could get there in just a few hours if we rode Violet." Her words ran together as she rushed through the sentence. She was going to play this by ear. Go to Rothol's with the tiefling, and then see what happens. What could happen in one afternoon?


	9. Chapter 9

The sun beat down mercilessly as Anara stood in the yard. Her hands were on her hips and she chewed her bottom lip while she stared at Valen, squinting in the sunlight. The shirt he wore was tight across his chest, outlining his muscles as he shifted the scythe from one shoulder to the other. "Well?" she asked.

"Let's go this afternoon. The sooner we find a mage the sooner I can be gone," he replied. "Then I won't be disrupting your life anymore," he added in a whisper, not really intending for her to hear that part of it.

The trip up to Rothol's place wouldn't take long. So there wasn't any need to gather any supplies. A few hours – no more. If Rothol didn't have the information Valen was looking for, there was no telling what their next course of action would be. But the dawning realization that she was in over her head made Anara think that it would be Valen's problem to solve – not hers. She was done. The vision of him fighting that fiend had solidified a few things in her mind.

It took a few minutes to get Violet back out of the barn. Once the horse was saddled and ready to go, she mounted her and sat there with a hand out to Valen. He looked up at her, the sun glinting off his irises and making him seem even more otherworldly than usual.

"Come on," she said. "Time's a wasting..."

The tiefling shifted from foot to foot, the scythe still in his hands. "I ... I've never ridden on a beast like that," he finally admitted. He absently rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he squinted up at her.

"Oh," was her response. "Well, give me the scythe, if you're going to insist on taking it with us." He handed over the scythe. The weapon was tall enough that Anara rested it against Violet's flank. "Now, put your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up... that's it, grab my hand..." It took a few tries, but eventually the man was mounted behind her on the horse, scythe back in his hands.

"Alright, if you've never been on a horse before, you may want to hold on to me with one hand. Are you sure we need that scythe?"

"I would feel more comfortable with something like it, yes. So unless you have a sword handy in your home, this will have to do."

"Ok, just asking. Hang on..." She clucked under her tongue and Violet began moving off at a slow and sedate pace. It was only mid afternoon, and the heat was intense. Sweat began to trickle down her face and she could feel it pooling on her back. Between the sun, the horse and the man sitting behind her, there was no relief from the heat at all.

The trade road branched off from the road to the village about 1/3 of the way between her farm and the town. Standing at the fork in the road was a wagon, drawn by a bay horse. Dayfid's horse. He sat on the bench of the wagon, reins in hand, as if he were waiting for her.

Anara rode Violet up to the wagon. "Dayfid. Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question. Let me just say that a little bird told me where you were bound."

"Cara." It wasn't a question, just an affirmation of a fact. "How did you know I'd be going out today? What if I'd waited until tomorrow?"

"I didn't. I took a chance. If I hadn't seen you this afternoon, I would have come back tomorrow. Or I would have ridden out to your farm. Why are you doing this, Anara?"

"We've had this conversation, Dayfid. I don't care to repeat it." She clucked under her tongue, urging the horse past the wagon. Dayfid moved his wagon to intercept.

"I would like to speak to you, in private," he said with a meaningful glance at Valen mounted behind her. Behind his eyes was a cold steel that not many had ever seen. He usually bent like a willow in the wind, leaning this way and that but remaining exactly where he was. People saw all the movement and thought him weak. Anara knew better. She knew that he had never really capitulated in any way. He would bend, but eventually he would return to his roots, stronger than before. There would be no going on without talking to him.

In one smooth movement, the cleric dismounted from the wagon. Anara got down from Violet and walked around to the back. "Speak quickly. I don't want to be out after dark."

"Don't go. Give him directions, let him take Violet. Let him go, Anara. Stay here. I have a bad feeling about this man, and what he represents. He has brought the fires of hell with him, I can smell it. You damn us all with your carelessness!"

Before she had tolerated his accusations, because she knew they came from concern for her. But this was too much – she was mad. Madder than she'd been in a long, long time. How dare he question her? He didn't know anything about Valen, what he represented or where he came from! The fact that his guesses were spot on really ticked her off.

"You don't know the first thing about this situation, Dayfid," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "This is my choice to make. Do not make me think less of you by insisting that I don't know what's good for me. This man has given me a chance to breathe, and I'm going to help him, dammit. Now stand aside and let me pass!"

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. Her eyes flared with anger. Anger welled up in him as well – anger that she couldn't see what was right in front of her, anger that she was foolishly following someone she didn't know, who could very well be the death of her, of them all. As the heat filled his body, an inevitable explosion waiting to happen, he looked into her eyes. There would be no arguing with her. His hands dropped and the anger flew out of him in a rush, leaving him feeling deflated and empty.

"Go. Go with my blessing. Be safe, be well, and may the bounty of Chantea follow you all the days of your life." The ritualistic blessing of his calling sounded hollow on his lips. He had been beaten. A small voice inside him told him he'd never see this woman again. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and force her to stay. Bind up her arms and carry her off until the stranger was gone and he couldn't harm her anymore. But he would surely lose her then. She was lost to him already. He couldn't force her to stay. He summoned up a small measure of his power and kissed her forehead, imprinting her with a blessing of Chantea.

Anara looked at him in surprise. "You aren't going to argue with me?" she asked incredulously.

"Would it help?" he said, a sad smile splaying across his face. "Go. Return when you can. I'll be waiting for you." He mounted the wagon and gave one last longing look at her. With a 'hoy' to the horse, he turned the wagon around and headed back to town.

A strange feeling suffused her, making her feel as if her head wasn't attached to her body. She mounted Violet and urged her up the road, all the while wondering exactly what had just happened. It wasn't like Dayfid to just give up. Valen was blessedly silent while she worked through the turmoil of her thoughts.

Not thirty minutes later, they came to a clearing off the path. Beyond the clearing the forest grew dark with trees, but a trail was visible. She dismounted and led Violet across the clearing and into the woods on the other side.

It was cooler under the trees. The sunlight came down through the leaves to dapple the trail with spots of light. The smell of pine and sap was strong and comforting. Birds sang, squirrels chattered and a small breeze wafted up the path. She almost felt like her old self again – how she'd been before Liam had died and grief had taken over her life. Liam – would he approve of what she did now? Would he have chosen to shelter the tiefling and help him on his way? She believed he would have. But it didn't matter. This was her choice, and it was made.

The path wound through the trees, crossed a stream and then opened up into a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a run down house, smoke issuing from the chimney even though the day was hot. Outside was the detritus of the life of a hermit – a horse, a few cows, chickens and some pigs rooting around in their sty. An anvil sat next to a tree stump, and scraps of wood and metal were scattered around on the ground.

Valen dismounted, with Anara's help. His grip grew tight on the scythe, the only thing he had to fight with, if it came to that. The ramshackle house rose in front of them, the banister on the stairs listing heavily to one side. The roof looked sunken in several spots, and grime had built up on the windows to the point that not much light could have gotten through. A few steps and they stood in front of the door. Valen lifted his hand to knock, and Anara put her hand on his forearm. "Let me," she said.

They waited. The sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard, and a low, warbley voice sounded from within.

"Oh, someone's come to visit us, someone has. Been a long time since we had a visitor, yes it has. Wonder what they want? Potion? Poison? A love philter? All the same, all the same…" Her voice grew louder as she came near the door. And then it opened.

In front of them stood a short, shriveled woman. Her silver hair was tied up in a long braid, wisps of hair haloing her face. Her face was ancient – lined with the years and the stresses of her life. She wore a simple grey smock over what was once a white dress, now gone brown with age. Her feet were bare and her hands were gnarled with rheumatism. She gripped a worn stick, as gnarled as her hands. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, although she still appeared to see them.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed. "Rothol hasn't seen the likes of you, lad, in many many years. Tiefling, are ya?" She reached out with her walking stick to jab Valen's chest. "Tch, wonder what you'll be wanting then. Come in, come in. Make yerself's ta home." Turning, she made her way slowly across the floor, disappearing into the gloom of the cabin.

Anara turned to Valen, a strange look on her face. She shrugged her shoulders and stepped through the door, following the old hag into the decrepit building. He stood on the porch. Something felt off, here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the chemical odor hanging in the air, left over from Rothol's potion making. Perhaps it was simply the heat of the day and the encounter with Dayfid, wearing on his nerves. But maybe it was something else. He couldn't shake the feeling that not everything was right with the world. It was a common feeling, an old feeling, almost like coming home. He stepped into the gloom of the cabin, quietly shutting the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Rothol

The interior of the cabin was musty and dim. After being outside in the bright sunlight, it took several moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Anara let out an involuntary gasp. The walls were covered with shelves, and every shelf was crammed full of stuff – potion ingredients, phials, flasks, distilling equipment. A cluster of tables held court in the center of the room, and they groaned under the weight of the glassware and braziers that topped them. Everywhere there were bottles, some full of liquid, some not. A stuffed chair sat in the corner, stacked high with what appeared to be roots of some kind. There was no place to sit.

Rothol was humming to herself. Standing in front of a brazier, she stirred a pale green liquid that sat in a flask on a grate on top of the coals. Carefully, she added a powder that she'd crumbled between her fingers to the liquid. As the grains fell in, the solution turned briefly orange, and then went back to green. A foul smell began to fill the air – pungent and sharp.

"So, what did you be wantin' with old Rothol, eh? Somethin' to spice up your love life?" She glanced over at the tiefling as she said this, and shook her head. "Not thinkin' you'll want that. Will you be needin' a poison, then, to get rid of those that needs gettin' rid of?" She looked at Anara, who had a shocked look on her face. "Guess it won't be that, either. So spit it out. What's it yer after?" Her attention turned back to the bubbling flask in front of her. "Oh dear, looks like I added too much ground mandrake. Where's that fennel seed?" She went over to one of the numerous bins and began digging through it, occasionally tossing something out on the floor.

"Ma'am, we're here for information, if you have it," began Anara. She waited until the hag was done ferreting through the bin and had returned to the flask. "We need to know if you, or someone you know, can remove a …" Here she paused, looking at Valen.

He took a step towards the old woman. "A sigil of finding. I need it removed as soon as possible." For long minutes there was no sound other than the bubbling of the potion Rothol was concocting and the rasp of the glass stirring rod against the bottom of the flask.

"Well," she said at last, removing the flask to the table top to cool. "I can't do it for yeh. I mostly make potions – all that other magickery I leave to the mages. But I do know someone who probably can, or if he can't he'll know someone else. Doesn't live close by, though. It'd be a long trip for yeh. I don't know if I even remember exactly where it is the bugger lives anymore…" The potion on the table began to turn from green to blue and a white solid began forming at the bottom of the flask.

"What I can do for yeh is to give you a potion that will make it unfindable, until you can get to Elof. Take me a day to concoct it, though. Assumin' I've everything I need…" Carefully she decanted the liquid into a bottle, stoppering it with a cork when it was full. The white solid she scraped off the bottom of the flask, placing it into a small box and tucking it into another bin.

One of the shelves was lined with books, and it was to this that she went next. Her finger tapped each volume as she passed it, until finally she found the one she was looking for and pulled it down. The tome had obviously not been read in quite some time, but her hand unerringly found the right page. "Aha!" She exclaimed, pointing to a line on the parchment. "Alder sap, that's what I'm missin… should be some around here, though." Squinting, she looked up at Anara, a finger tapping the corner of her mouth.

"You'll have to take this," Rothol shoved a spigot into Anara's hands. "An' this," she handed her a glass jar. "Get as much as you can, but fill this jar at least haf full," she said, her hand going to her hip and her fingers tapping on her lower lip. "Now, it's warm today, so the sap should flow pretty easy. It'll be sticky, mind yeh. Try not to get it on yer fingers. There's a stand of alder trees about a five minutes walk that way," she flung her arm out in a southwesterly direction. "Go," she said as she pushed Anara out the door. "Be quick."

The hag turned her attentions onto Valen. "Yeh look strong, son, and I need some iron flakes to do this proper." Digging through a box on one of the shelves, she produced a much battered pot. "This here's solid iron. Just take this," a file found its way into his hands, "an' this," she said, placing a small wooden box into the pot. "Go outside and scrape some filings into this box. I need you to fill it up, son, so don't come back until it's full." Then she turned her back on him and began digging through other boxes on other shelves, muttering to herself as she did.

He stepped out into the bright sunshine, the light making him squint after being in the dark hovel. Once his eyes adjusted, he found a stump, sat down and began pulling the file up and down the side of the pot. At first, the iron flakes fell all over the ground, few landing in the box where he'd placed it between his legs. He set the pot and file down, looking around for a solution. On the porch was a wooden box filled with wood and a few pieces of cloth. What they were doing in there, he didn't know, but one would serve nicely to catch the iron filings.

The file screeched against the pot as he drew it, shaving off tiny pieces of iron onto the cloth. The sun was warm and the task lulled him in with its monotonous movement. In the space between one heart beat and another, the light changed. Snapping out of his reverie, he looked up to see the sky reddening and clouds rolling in out of nowhere. A scowl crossed his face. The clearing was deathly silent. A flash of lightening, followed by the sound of thunder deepened the scowl on his face. He stood, going back to the cabin and grabbing the scythe he'd left propped up by the door. He could hear Rothol humming tunelessly inside, oblivious to what was going on outside.

A dark spot appeared in the middle of the clearing. It pulsed and seethed with an unholy energy, growing larger with each contraction. The air was charged with electricity and ozone, and the hair on his arms stood up. He had run out of time. Quickly he stepped towards the opening portal, hoping to catch whoever it was off guard. With a discharge of energy and a flash of light, the portal opened all the way, and through it stepped someone he had not expected to see. Not yet, anyway. He raised his scythe menacingly, trying to ward off the intruder as the portal popped out of existence behind him.

XXX

Anara closed the spigot as the sap flow slowed to a trickle. The jar was just over half full, which was good enough. Rothol hadn't required more. She screwed the lid on and grimaced. Her hands were covered in sap. She resigned herself to being sticky as she began walking back towards the clearing. Halfway back up the trail, the forest went still and silent. The light looked strange, and the sky was turning red. A storm was blowing in. But it wasn't anywhere near sunset yet. It didn't make any sense. Worried, she walked faster.

A loud popping sound came from the clearing ahead of her, and she began to run. The sound was reminiscent of when Valen had dropped into this world, and she didn't think it was a coincidence. Whoever was gating in now was probably someone looking for Valen. Part of her was glad, thinking that the adventure might soon be over. For better or worse, that thing coming through the portal might take him away. But the bigger part of her was worried and scared.

The ground sloped up toward the clearing. As she crested the rise, she caught a glimpse of what had shown up to claim Valen. Towering over the tiefling was a monster – something she had only heard of in stories people told to frighten children. It was easily two and a half times taller than Valen. Large, leathery wings extended from its back. Gigantic horns curled back from the front of its head, and its skin was red. In one hand, it brandished a fiery whip; with the other it was beckoning Valen with a claw. Its voice carried across the silent landscape, deep and grating.

"There's no escape, you know," it said, looking at Valen. The tiefling brandished the scythe at the demon, trying to look menacing and failing. He simply wasn't large enough to threaten the balor. The beast shook with laughter, the low tones reverberating throughout the clearing. "You think to fight me?" It asked, incredulous and mirthful at the same time. The whip cracked out, catching a tree limb and breaking it. "You cannot hope to win," it said, its look changing from amused to menacing.

"I would rather die fighting, than travel back to the Abyss with you!" shouted Valen. "I will not fight for you any more!" As he said the last he stepped in, swinging the scythe at the balor's knee. Steel and flesh connected, and the scythe ripped a tear below the kneecap of the devil. It howled in fury, lashing out with the whip. But Valen was too close and the whip snapped harmlessly in the air. He stepped in again, slashing at a thigh this time.

This time, the balor reached down with his clawed hand, striking Valen across the chest. The force of the blow sent him skidding on his back across the dirt, the scythe falling to the ground next to him. Anara watched it all happen, frozen with shock and fear. The jar of sap dropped to the ground and she ran screaming into the clearing, "Valen, no!"

The wound looked bad, and she tried to staunch the bleeding. He forced her hands away, fixing her with a red eyed stare. Remembering what had happened the last time his eyes had looked like that, she backed off, stepping carefully around the scythe and other debris that cluttered the ground.

"What's this?" rumbled the demon, clearly amused once again. It took a step closer to the two of them. "A female? Didn't take you long, did it little one?" The beast sounded incredulous. "Perhaps she should join you," it said.

"No!" cried out Valen. "It's me you want! Leave her out of this." Haltingly he got up to his feet, grasping the scythe again and trying to get into a battle stance even as the wound on his chest began pumping out more blood. He wavered a little, standing there, but it only strengthened his resolve to fight the balor or die trying.

Anara couldn't believe what she was seeing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was screaming in abject fear at the view before her. That aspect of her personality wasn't making it all the way up to the conscious part of her brain, however. The sight of the powerfully built demon before her had her wanting to flee, but try as she might, her legs wouldn't move. All she could do was stand there, stupidly, and wait for the scene to play out before her.

"I grow tired of this game. I will take you and the female back to my tower, and there is nothing you can do to stop it." With his empty hand, the balor made a gesture and a portal began to form behind it. Energy swirled into a vortex, creating a rift that led back to the Abyss. With his other arm, he scooped up Valen and Anara as if they were errant children, and then he stepped through the portal.

With a shock of collapsing air, the portal closed. A few moments later, sound and life returned to the clearing, as if nothing strange had happened there. Rothol stuck her head out the door, wondering what all the noise had been about. "Where did those two get off to?" she asked herself, before shrugging her shoulders and retreating back into her cabin.

XXX

Dayfid clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, urging the horse to move faster up the road. His earlier magnanimity at letting Anara go had evaporated like water in the hot sun, and his wagon was fairly flying up the road to Rothol's hut.

The closer he got to the clearing where the old hag lived, the worse he felt. A sense of unease had crept over him not an hour after he had spoken with Anara, and it had only deepened in the several hours since. The rutted track kept the horse and cart from going too quickly, but still he urged the beast on, risking laming him. Something wasn't right: he could feel it in his bones and taste it on the air.

The wagon clattered into the clearing to find it empty. With a leap Dayfid jumped down and ran to the door of the cottage. Three knocks brought Rothol to the door. "Where's Anara?" he demanded, out of breath and sweating from something other than exertion and heat.

"Who?" she said, wiping her hands on a filthy apron around her waist. "Oh, wait, that young lady and her tiefling friend?" A hand shaded her eyes as she looked around the clearing. "Well, they were here. Seem to have run off though. And I was goin' to make a potion for them…" her words trailed off and she turned back inside. Dayfid followed her in.

"How long ago did you see them?" he asked, turning the woman around forcefully to face him.

"Dunno – time gets away from me it does. Les see… well, about haf an hour ago I heard a big pop. When I stuck my 'ead out the door, they were gone."

Veins stood out on Dayfid's neck as he clenched his fists in frustration. He stomped out of the hovel and into the center of the clearing. The signs were here, for one who could see them. A portal had been opened here, and recently. But Dayfid wasn't versed in portals and planes, so he missed them as he stomped back to his wagon in defeat.


	11. Chapter 11

Sputtering torches broke through the dark in places, adding their smoky stink to the gloom of the dungeon. Somewhere water dripped, making the air damp and providing a toehold for mold and mildew to grow. All the torch light did was put the shadows into dark relief – it didn't illuminate the cells one iota. But Valen, possessing demonic blood, didn't need light to see in dim conditions. His night vision allowed him to see quite normally in this badly lit environment.

In the cell next to him lay Anara. She lay on her side, her hip forming a jagged mountainous outline with her shoulders. Several times a minute the v between her hip and shoulder would rise imperceptibly: proof that she breathed. His keen eyes watched her, waiting for any sign of consciousness. The explanation, when it came, would be difficult for him.

Clanging came from the left, and an imp carrying food of some kind entered the dungeon. It dropped one tray in front of Valen's cell, and the other in front of Anara's. Apparently they were the only guests down here. It left without saying a word or offering a look. Still Anara slept, the slow rise of her arm nestled on her waist the only sign of life.

Hours dragged by – days could have passed. It was difficult to say. Valen ate when he had to: hunger tearing at his stomach and threatening to overwhelm him. Mostly he sat, staring at the slow rise and fall of the arm in the next cell. Once, overcome with grief and despair he rattled the bars and screamed for long minutes, until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse.

At some point, Anara's breathing began to speed up. Her arm moved in a different way: upward to rest a hand on her hip. A leg twitched and she rolled over onto her back. One cough; two; and she sat up, looking around.

Her eyes were open but she couldn't see anything. So she shut them again, to close off the horror of where she was. Some sort of self defense mechanism kicked in, and she grabbed her knees with her hands, trying to make herself as small as possible. A voice came from the left, a voice she thought she knew. But this voice cracked and faded, as if its owner had spent too much time screaming.

"Anara," Valen whispered, his raw throat stinging at the effort. He cleared his throat and spoke again, a little louder this time. "Are you all right?"

"Where are we?" she asked, strangling a sob that threatened to break over her. "What was that thing?"

"We're in a dungeon. And the demon that brought us here was Grimash't – my old master. I'm afraid he's brought us to his fortress in the Abyss. I'm so sorry I got you involved in all of this…"

Silence greeted him. He could see her rocking slowly back and forth, her head buried in her hands and her hair completely covering her face. Rage bubbled up within him, and he wanted to tear the bars apart and howl at the injustice of it all. This was his penance to serve – she shouldn't be made to pay for his crimes. What Grimash't had in mind for her he did not know. But it wouldn't be good, and it would likely break his heart.

The reality of it all was overwhelming. And because it was overwhelming, Anara refused to believe it. The dark; the charnel stink; they were figments of her imagination. She pressed her eyelids tighter together and buried her head as far as she could into the cavity formed by her legs and arms, until all she could smell was herself. She closed her ears, so she could no longer hear the dripping of water beating a staccato somewhere to the right. She could no longer hear the ragged breathing of the man sitting in the cell next to her, or the occasional squeak of the rats that ran amongst the bones that littered the floor.

She'd had too much to drink – that was it. The whole thing, from waking that morning and finding the tiefling in the woods to this: it was a fevered break from reality brought on by too much whiskey. Soon Dayfid would show up, throw some cold water on her face and sober her up. In her state she would rage at him for refusing to let her be, but secretly she would be glad to see him: glad that he cared enough to come.

But the voice next to her was still trying to talk to her; still insisting that she acknowledge him. The staccato of the water grew louder, finding a counterpoint with her heart beat. Panic welled up, washing over her in waves with each swell of blood through her veins. That vital muscle in her chest beat faster as adrenaline crashed through her system. Breathing came quick and shallow: she had to get out of here.

In one clumsy movement she lunged up and towards the front of the cage, grabbing the bars with both hands. With every ounce of strength she had she shook the bars, screaming at the top of her lungs. The faint sputtering of the torches increased her panic, and a secondary surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She beat her hands against the bars in a futile attempt to break through, the timber of her voice moving up to a screech. As suddenly as it came on, the adrenaline drained out, leaving her limp. Body and floor met as she fell down, sobbing.

With a growing horror, Valen watched Anara's breakdown from the next cell. Almost of their own accord his arms reached through the bars, but the distance between them was too great: he could only graze the bars of her cell with the tips of his fingers. His strength was greater than hers, but he knew he could not bend the steel holding him prisoner.

Minutes ticked by, counted by the slow drip of the water and the beating of his heart. Still she sobbed at the front of the cell, crying until she was heaving and hiccupping. Valen tried to talk to her, but it was liking speaking to a ghost. Eventually the crying smoothed out and she slept. He collapsed against the back wall, guilt consuming him for having brought her here.

After a while, he fell asleep. When he woke up, Anara was gone.

XXX

Back and forth, back and forth, his tail swishing in annoyance and rage, he paced his cage. The imp would return soon to feed him, and he meant to get answers from it if it killed him. The ice blue of his eyes had smoldered to red, and with the change his demonic senses came to the fore. The subtle smell of smoky brimstone and blood increased, and he knew that he would soon have some answers, if not all of them.

Keys jangled in the lock on the main entrance to the dungeon. The door opened and a torch flared to life, illuminating the dingy interior and throwing everything into stark relief. Arms crossed in front of him, Valen stopped pacing and waited for the visitor to reach him. Time stretched and for an instant all that existed was his rage. Then he snapped back and looked up at Grimash't.

"Where is she?" Valen demanded, his voice a low growl.

"My, my, I've really struck a nerve, haven't I?" The demon tapped a cheek with one taloned hand, a malicious smile on his face. "What's it worth to you? What would happen if I tore her limb from limb in front of you?" He stared intently at Valen, watching for his response.

A brief look of shock flitted across his face before he got himself under control. So this was the plan. Grimash't intended to hold her hostage for Valen's good behavior. Her captivity would insure that he would do what he was told, or she'd be killed. Murderous intent crept into his face and he wanted to howl at his own impotence.

The balor chuckled, then laughed: a full, deep throated thing that shook the bars and rattled the bones scattered about. He stopped abruptly, taking a step closer to Valen. "You'll fight for me, tiefling, and you'll fight well. Or the human gets it." One long finger made a slicing motion at his neck, indicating what would be Anara's fate if Valen refused.

Valen's shoulders sagged in defeat. He was stuck, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He never should have tried to escape. All he'd done was to bring some innocent woman into more danger than she could possibly conceive of, just so he could pretend for a few weeks that he might actually have a choice. There were no choices in the Abyss: everyone was in thrall to someone else, and you'd better dance to their tune or there would be consequences. That you were just as likely to be promoted as killed made doing anything here risky, but every living thing scrambled about in a chaotic dance trying to appease the berk above them. They all lived and killed and died, pirouetting around to please the master of the realm. Even Grimash't was caught in the deadly ballet. He probably had as much choice in the matter as Valen.

"What do you want me to do?" Valen asked, understanding now how it was going to be. He would go off and fight. Every fight would bring him that much closer to being back in Grimash't's good graces. But it would never earn him his freedom, or Anara's. The best he would be able to hope for would be a room of his own. What would happen to his friend he didn't know.

"You will go to the barracks, with the first rank fighters. You will fight for me. For every battle you win, you get a boon. Do well, and you will earn your way back into my favor. Lose, and you get to watch girlie die. Then you die. Slowly and painfully. No one escapes from me, no one! You will come to wish you had never left, Shadowbreath." The demon lifted a hand and the door to Valen's cage unlocked. He turned, walking out of the dungeon. A few minutes later, Valen followed. The march to the barracks was a shuffling mockery of the first time he'd come here. Then he'd been full of defiance. He had believed he could escape. Now he knew the truth. He would spend the rest of his days fighting in the blood wars for Grimash't.


	12. Chapter 12

Drums beat in the distance, reverberating through this icy plane. A rag tag band of demons and tieflings stood in a haphazard formation, weapons at the ready. Mountains ringed them, closing down the world to just their fury and the anger of the devils that were marching towards them. The drumbeat echoed in their veins: each pulse of their heart bringing the rage of the blood war closer and closer to the surface. Some of them were lost to its call already – eyes glowing red and feral smiles full of teeth and lashing tails.

Valen tightened his grip on the flail. The armor he'd been given didn't fit quite right – the pauldrons were too tight on his shoulders and the cuirass was too wide through the waist. In front of him the devils marched onward - relentless in their progress. He knew that in order to survive this fight, he'd have to let the demon within him loose. It scared him, the ferocity he was capable of when he gave in to those baser desires to kill and hurt. It wasn't the man he wanted to be. But the choice had been taken from him, again, by someone determined to profit from these wars.

The devils came at them, snarling and flinging their weapons through the air. The band of demons was small and outnumbered, but they had a surprise waiting. Within their center they concealed a mage of great power. It was said she could turn the tide of this battle, and when they won, return them home again.

Heat rose through Valen's body, in contrast to the bone numbing cold around him. His senses became enhanced, and the nearness of the devils drove him mad. Succumbing at last, he let the hunger and rage well up and take over. In a white hot fury he charged, swinging his flail time and time again. Before him the devils fell, taking wounds too grievous for them to live. White lightening crashed around him: evidence of the mage plying her craft. Some hits got through his defenses, but he didn't notice. The flail snapped out and made contact with flesh. A wet smack as it hit home, crushing skin and bone to dust. His world narrowed to the weapon and the devils in front of him.

Time seemed to stand still, and soon there were no more enemies to fight. Pain lanced through him from myriad injuries he'd sustained. It clarified his mind and brought him back to himself. The battlefield was awash in bodies and blood, the detritus of some old argument that had been burned into the souls of millions of sentient beings. No one knows when the Blood War began, only that it would end when either the devils or the demons were no more. An eternity of fighting that played out daily in battles just like this one. They were all pawns of some greater power who jockeyed for some unknown goal.

Everywhere around him the others were raiding the bodies, looking for usable items or money. He joined them. There wasn't much. Grimash't paid for unique items the warriors brought back. Information he paid for even more. Not with currency, but with favors and luxuries. The more Grimash't was pleased with your service, the more you could expect to receive from him. Those who were in favor found the women (or men) they liked gracing their private rooms and as much food as they wanted to eat. They lived like pigs being fattened for a feast. Valen lived in the barracks with 39 other sentients. He was lucky to get one meal a day and to keep the floggers off his back. But he kept quiet, didn't rock the boat. He endured all the abuse and the ribbing of his fellows: out of guilt. Out of a sense of responsibility for the one he'd caused to be brought here.

A few coins found their way into his pockets, and a slip of paper with some words on it he couldn't read. Could be important or it could be someone's market list. He didn't know. The red faded from his eyes, leaving an icy blue in its place. He began to feel the chill of the air as the rage faded, taking its oblivion with it. The battle was over, and still they were here. The mage should have teleported them back by now.

Light reflected off the snow, chasing shadows away and making everything appear hyper bright. He looked around, taking in the wounded and the untouched in one look. The mage was lying prone in the center of the combatants, but her chest moved up and down. She lived, for a while at least.

"What happened to her?" he demanded of the one standing next to her.

"Don't know. After the battle she just collapsed." The cambion stretched his long legs, flexing muscles to keep them limber after the exertion of the battle. "She's still breathing."

A scowl crossed his face as Valen bent down to listen to the human. Why they chose her for this mission he'd never know – humans were notoriously susceptible to the extremes of the Hells. Her breathing was deep, even and slow. Although the cold must be getting to her, her color was still good, and her heartbeat was strong. Valen shook his head. "I don't know why she's unconscious, but we should get her off the cold ground."

The cambion nodded once and then snapped his fingers. Three other tieflings came up to him, eager to do his bidding. "Prepare a fire – get the mage off the ground and warm. The sooner you can manage that, you fettered hellhounds, the sooner we can get out of here." A distinct hierarchy existed amongst Grimash't's warriors, and Valen had just broken ranks by speaking to the half – demon. He didn't really care. All he wanted was to get out of this frozen chunk of Hell and back to the Abyss. Live to fight another day. Get back into the good graces of his captor so he could try and find a way to escape again.

The subordinates scattered, looking for fuel for a fire and some way to raise the mage above the cold ground. Lacking anything better to do, Valen crouched near the woman, monitoring her status in case she should suddenly take a turn for the worse. The cambion just stood there, staring at him with a look of condescension.

"I know who you are," he said, using a claw to clean the blood from underneath his finger beds. Malice dripped from his voice, teasing the demon in Valen back to the surface.

"Yeah?" Valen kept his fingers on the wrist of the woman. He didn't dare look the fiend in the eyes lest it be considered a challenge.

"Yes. You are the one who brought back that delicious little human woman. I can't thank you enough for that morsel. She's been such a treat to all of us. And hardy! I didn't know a human could withstand that much pain. The look in her eyes…" Before the cambion could finish his sentence Valen was at his throat, fingers pressed into the small little dip where the windpipe could be easily crushed. "If you've hurt her…" he threatened, placing as much vitriol as he could into those words, trying to scare the demon into compliance with his desires.

The fiend found it within himself to laugh. Laugh in the face of death and in the puny emotions of puny little tieflings. "I can make her love me, you know," he said conversationally, as though the pressure on his trachea wasn't beginning to cut off his air supply. "I can make her desire me as no other, and die for that desire."

Valen increased the pressure, his eyes glowing red in the onslaught of this new threat to his well being. "You're not a full incubus, Graynoth. You don't have that kind of power."

Though he was beginning to see speckles in his vision from oxygen deprivation, Graynoth answered, his voice a harsh growl under the relentless pressure on his throat. "I don't need to be an incubus to make her love me, any fool could do that. Humans are so easily swayed by demons. I need only to reach out my hand and she is mine."

"You lie," Valen hissed, his anger amping up his strength as he mercilessly crushed the throat of the cambion. Suddenly he found his legs kicked out from under him and fists pummeling his back. Someone kicked him in the kidney, and pain lanced through his torso. Rage blossomed in his heart.

The kicks and punches were coming from two different directions. He waited, analyzing the patterns and the spaces where his assailants were. In one smooth motion, he flipped over, scissoring his legs to grab one tiefling by the neck. At the same time, he grabbed his flail, sending it out to make contact with the other tiefling's head. A wet thump greeted his ears and a crack split through the air. He jumped to his feet, flail in hand, looking for Graynoth. The cambion stood a few feet away, massaging his neck. At his side was the other tiefling he'd sent out to build a fire, brandishing a nasty looking broadsword. Menace glowed in his eyes, and he began to advance on Valen.

In response, Valen began swinging his flail, judging just when to add a flick of the wrist so he could hit the other man as hard as possible. A flash of white light overwhelmed his vision, leaving him blinded. Then as suddenly as it came upon them, the light was gone and they stood in a long room.

Dim, red light came from magma flowing through the walls, adding heat to an already blistering temperature. The floor gave under their feet, appearing to be something that was grown instead of built. At the far end was a throne carved out of volcanic rock, its jagged edges sharp as blades. The balor Grimash't loomed over them, his expression one of barely concealed glee.

"Fighting amongst yourselves?" he rumbled. Valen and the other tiefling glared at each other across the hall. Graynoth stood off to the side, nursing his injury and starring murder at Valen. "Shall I send you into the pits, boy?" Valen looked up to see the demon staring at him, waiting for an answer.

His eyes flashed red, the rage engendered earlier still present. "They insulted me." The lie came easily. It wasn't entirely false, and the small kernel of truth made it easy for him to pass it off as such. "They deserve to die. I killed two of them before we were brought back! You've never tolerated weakness in your ranks."

"Hmm." Grimash't tapped a claw on his ragged upper lip. With a flip of his hand, he dismissed the others, gesturing to Valen to stay. Graynoth was the last to leave, his parting look at Valen a promise of pain and treachery.

"You've done well for me, Valen Shadowbreath. I shall offer you a choice: double rations for the rest of the week, or a woman for one night. Which will it be?" The balor loomed over the smaller man, forcing a choice that he could just as easily take back in his next breath.

"The woman – my choice?"

Grimash't laughed. For several long minutes, he howled as if Valen had told the funniest joke there was. The tiefling just stood there, his flail dripping blood and gore into a puddle on the floor. As abruptly as it had begun, the laughter stopped. "No," said Grimash't. "I am not _that_ pleased with you. Keep it up though, and in a few months…"

The rapid beating of his heart that had begun at the thought he'd see Anara again slowed as he realized he wouldn't have a chance to talk to her. There was no way Grimash't would send her to him. It would be some other slave, expecting a rough roll in the hay and just hoping to escape with her life. "I'll take the double rations, then," Valen said. It would help him build up his strength, which he would need if he was going to prove his worth to the balor.

Grimash't snorted, as if he'd expected the choice and didn't approve. "Very well. You are dismissed."

As he turned to go he remembered the slip of paper he'd taken from one of the bodies on the battlefield. He pulled it from his pocket, crumbled and stained with a few drops of blood, and handed it to Grimash't wordlessly. The demon took it without another word, nodding to Valen as he did. If it turned out to be anything important, the balor might or might not choose to reward him for it.

His mood foul, Valen made his way back to the barracks, taking the most circuitous route he could find. Guilt weighed him down, and he hoped he'd see Anara to reassure himself that the cambion's words were false. Perhaps he could even console her: offer her a glimmer of hope in this dismal life. Who was he kidding? By escaping from here once, he'd doomed them both to a lifetime of servitude. Any exits were well guarded, and any chance of him ever getting out of here again was gone. Still, he couldn't help but believe there had to be a way…


	13. Chapter 13

Everything about this place was confusing

Everything about this place was confusing. Hallways branched off into infinity, some going nowhere. Others ended abruptly in trap doors or strange circular rings. Keeping everything straight was impossible, so she just gave up. The barracks were this way, but tomorrow they might be over there. The suites where the elite warriors were kept were usually upstairs, but today they were down, sunken into the very bowels of the tower. Her head spun, her mind tried to wrap itself around this place and its utter lack of directionality. 

Time lost all meaning. Every day was like the next, and there was no setting of the sun to judge the passage of time. There was only waking and sleeping. Who knew what day it was? The others didn't know. They were just as lost and confused as she was. Every time she woke up, someone else was there, telling her what to do and where to go. Sometimes they hit her. Once, when she'd been particularly slow to respond, she was whipped 15 times across the back to teach her a lesson.

At first, she had tried to make some sense of this place. Tried to put everyone into categories and map the tower out. When that failed, she had begun to lose her mind. It came unfettered from her consciousness and wandered free sometimes, leaving her little more than an empty shell pacing the hallways, looking for a room to clean.

Sometimes, they let her outside. That was worse. The lurid colors seemed wrong, and there was a foul smell in the air that just wouldn't go away, no matter how long she endured it. Shadows leapt out from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and the shifting of the light played tricks with her eyes. She came to fear getting assigned midden duty, for it meant spending the cycle outside in the wilds of this place, where no sane person could hope to remain so.

One day, across a particularly large hallway, she had seen **him**. His name escaped her, like so many other details of her past life. It was all fading to dream. But she recognized him – knew that she knew him, and that he was why she was here. A rush of anger and rage filled her, and then was replaced with sorrow. Who was he, to drive these emotions of hers? What had happened? Everything was fading, even her memories. Soon nothing would be left but a shell of a woman, busily going about doing nothing. 

Some time later – days? weeks? - she saw him again. He moved with such purposeful grace: carried himself as a warrior should. His eyes flamed red and she **remembered**

_Hands around her throat, choking the life out of her_

_Abrupt apologies, blushing and stammering_

_Dinner cooked for her_

_A man, coming to the house: questioning her; questioning him._

After that, she began to prowl the place, lying in wait for just a glimpse of the red haired warrior. Tenaciously she held on to what she could remember, fighting the miasma of forgetfulness that came crashing in if she let up her guard for just a moment. Slowly, piece by piece, she began rebuilding herself, one memory at a time.

Anara – her name was Anara.

With the remembrance of her name, other memories came rushing back: other names. Valen, Dayfid, Cara, Rothol – some held meaning, some did not. But she kept them close to her heart, so she would not forget again. Of them all, Valen came most prominently to the surface. Realization blossomed in her mind – he was the red haired warrior that was responsible for bringing her here. This was his fault. But it was also hers.

Mind numbing duties led to mind numbing cycles. The crush of them passed ever quickly, trying to obliterate the small hold she had on herself. Servant, she was called. Cleaning, cooking, repairing armor, forging steel: these were all tasks she was given. Then one day a new task. 

The matron was a towering woman. Horns grew from her head, spiraling out in pearlescent glory. Her skin was red, her eyes black as coal. The fingers of her hands ended in claws, dark as night and sharp as knives. There was a lethal beauty to her that could not be ignored. When she spoke, Anara listened, quiet as a mouse.

"You," the matron hissed, her forked tongue flicking in and out of her mouth. "Today you are risen – today you go to one of the warriors suites. You will be his personal slave. He asked for you – so you will go." Large cloven feet began walking away from her, and a gesture indicated she should follow.

The way was long and arduous, twisting as it did through most of the tower. Fatigue crept in, settling a fog over her mind and letting her drift for a while unthinking. Suddenly a black onyx door was before her, the door knob a round piece of jade. The matron turned it, pushed open the door and shoved Anara in. The room beyond was black: sucking up the faint light that came from the lamps spaced around the room. 

A low susurrus began, the sound of silk over silk, or the moaning of many small bugs. The lamps flickered: became brighter. The black onyx floor gleamed and looked malevolent, drawing her will out of herself. A figure rose in front of her. It gently took her by the arm and led her to another room – a safer room – and sat her on a small bed. Protected now, Anara looked up to see who had helped her. 

The face staring back at her was unfamiliar. The planes of his face were perfect in their terrible beauty. His jet black hair curled away from his face, giving his dark eyes prominence. She looked into them, and felt that she could fall forever and never reach the bottom. His skin looked smooth, and before she could stop herself she reached up and touched his face. A smile from him then, full of promises and happiness. He leaned down, touching his soft lips to hers. A tingle went through her all the way to her toes. Sunshine burst through her mind, and she slept.

When she woke the beautiful man was nowhere to be found. Not knowing what she was supposed to do, she wandered the suite, cleaning and straightening, trying to keep busy so he could find no fault with her. It took very little time, and eventually she wandered back to the safe little room where she'd woken up. 

The days passed in mind numbing boredom. Another servant brought food up for her, but when she tried to speak to it, it hissed and backed away, its yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. The beautiful one was still absent. 

Tentatively, she wandered out of the suite, trying hard to remember the turns she took so she could return. This part of the keep was much nicer than the others she remembered. But even those memories, only days or weeks old, were fading. She was glad to let them go. Only a few thoughts were worth keeping in this place, and she had to struggle to hang on to them. 

The corridor in front of her did not look familiar. Nor did the one she had just left. Panicked and worried, she back tracked, running down corridor after corridor. All of it was strange and foreign, the gleaming marble changing color from white to blue to black and then red. Black… black she remembered. Faster now she ran back to the black corridors, sure her salvation waited for her there. 

The knobs on the doors were different – one made of alabaster, one of wood, and then one of jade. Green jade sparked another remembrance, and she turned the knob. This place was where she needed to be. Silently she sank to the floor, her heart pounding and her breath coming fast. It had been a close thing. There was no telling what might have happened to her had she gotten lost in this place. Demons roamed the halls, looking for lost servants. 

Crawling, her body exhausted, she found the room. A warm sense of comfort stole over her, and she slept again.

Something was shaking her, trying to wake her up. A name came to her lips, "Dayfid?" she asked, her eyes still shut tight. 

"No," came a low mellifluous voice, the harmonics vibrating up and down her spine. The voice was not one she recognized, but she recognized so little these days that it didn't alarm her in the slightest.

"I am Azilinoth," the voice said. "I am your master, come to claim you at last." He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her out of the small, safe bedroom and into a much larger space. A colossal bed stood on a pedestal, the black linens absorbing the lights in the room. There was virtually nothing else in the room, except for a wardrobe on the far wall and several doors leading out.

He placed her carefully on the bed. Anara hadn't had the nerve to look at him yet, but now, as she lay there, she felt compelled to look upon the man who claimed to be her master. It was him – the beautiful one from the first day she'd been brought here. He stood before her, magnificent and terrible, and her heart soared with delight and trembled in fear. "Where have you been?" she asked, her voice small and insignificant in the cavernous room.

"Fighting," he replied as he removed his clothing and lay beside her. One look in his eyes was all it took – she was lost. The night lasted forever in his arms. Over and over he took her, and she was more than willing to let him. She loved him. Part of her wondered how that could be: she didn't know this man. But all night she believed it heart and soul. She felt a deep connection with him and responded in kind. Somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind part of her was screaming.

In the morning, the Matron came. Anara was confused and bewildered. "Where is Azilinoth?" she asked. 

"He is gone. He has no more need for you. You go to another," the matron said. She left the black room, Anara trailing after. 

The next suite of rooms was made of stone. Jagged shapes erupted from the floor and walls, providing seating and bedding for its occupants. The surfaces were rough and unwelcoming. A large mage stone in the center of the room gave off a glaring, brassy light that hurt her eyes. Again, she was led to a smaller, more comfortable room and left alone.

This time the creature that came to her claiming to be her master was horrifying. Boils erupted from its skin, and it spoke in a sibilant voice that sent chills up and down her spine. The night she had to spend with that thing she banished to a dark corner of her mind, hoping never to stumble across it again.

The next day, the matron was back. This time the demoness healed the bruises and wounds left by the monster in the stone filled room, her touch cool and efficient. Anara was led to yet another suite of rooms. And so her life went, day after day. If the master of the suite was out, she bided her time straightening the rooms or wandering the halls. Nights passed either in horror or forgotten revelry. Her mind was now shattered enough that she frequently forgot the nights, remembering only the long, boring days of solitude.

She had not had a glimpse of the red haired warrior in a long, long time. But fractured as she was, she still remembered him: clung to the memory as though it were a lifeline that might lead her back to sanity.


	14. Chapter 14

_He runs, scrambling down the deserted hallways, a flail in his hands. His breath comes hard and fast and pain has bloomed in his side, but still he moves forward. Behind him is a monster – a demon come to kill him in the night. There is something odd about the fact that the corridors are empty: something he can't quite put his finger on. But to stop running is to court death, and he is not willing to do that. _

_A voice echoes out in the distance, "Come to me and I will save you from yourself." It is beguiling and sweet at the same time; full of promise and steel. It is familiar, and yet he swears he's never heard it before. But he goes towards it as fast as he can. Sweat runs down his back, tickling the skin there. His side burns with a ferocious intensity, but still he runs, his breath coming in gasping hitches now. Behind him is the demon, and if it catches him, everything will change._

_A circular room opens up before him, immense and dark. A pure blue beam illuminates the center of the cavern, for now the landscape has shifted from stone to rock, with stalagmites erupting out of the floor to trip him up. The center is where he needs to go – where the voice is emanating from. If he could reach it before the demon reaches him, he'll survive. _

_Adrenaline slams through him; revitalizing him. His legs move faster than he would have thought possible just a few minutes ago. He drops the flail in order to lighten his load. Sprinting towards the center, he avoids the rock outcroppings deftly as he maneuvers around them, unthinking. Behind him the roar of the beast comes closer; breathing down his neck. In front of him lies salvation – shining white in the center of the blue light._

_It is almost within reach, one more step and he will be there… but the beast grabs him from behind, throwing itself onto his back and sinking its claws into his flesh. It drags him away from the pool of light; away from his salvation. Angry, he breaks away, running as fast as he can. A woman reaches out to him, calling his name in fear. He grabs her hand and is pulled into the light. _

_The demon howls in agony and hatred: it has lost, and its punishment will be severe. To hide away again: unseen – unheard – untouched. As the woman embraces him, the demon disappears in a flash of red sparks. He looks up into her pale gray eyes and smiles as blood drains out of the wounds in his back. "I made it, my love," he says. She strokes his cheek, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his forehead. _

"_You are still human, Valen," she says._

Valen awoke with a start, the dream rousing him from sleep. Every night these images replayed in his mind. Sometimes he made it to the woman in the light, other nights the demon took him. Every time he slept; the same damn dream. The woman's features changed, but her voice remained constant.

Beside him he heard a small sound. Looking down he saw one of the slave women, sent here to bed him to keep him happy. He pushed her out of the bed, his lip curling upward and his eyes hard. "Go away," he snarled, pointing to the adjacent room.

Reaching behind him, he slid his hand along his back, searching for the tell tale signs that the dream was something more than middle of the night flashes from his subconscious mind. But there was nothing more than a thin tracery of scars from battles and punishments past. Knots of ridged tissue formed a map across his back, their landscape one of pain and torture.

Lying back down, he tried to let sleep claim him, but the embrace of that particular forgetfulness wouldn't come. Tossing and turning, he stayed in bed, trying to combat his wakefulness back into slumber. Always after these dreams he couldn't sleep. Deep within his soul, he knew they meant something: were indicative of some sort of trial to come. But with waking came a partial forgetting of the details, and by morning he would not remember the importance of the nighttime message.

The passage of time held very little meaning when every day was the same. A dull, boring monotony of identical actions lay out before him. Some days, there were choices to be made. Something different for breakfast. Perhaps a new sparring partner. Most days he was sent out to fight.

This day was no different. As he sat down to breakfast in the dining room, one of Grimash't's lieutenants walked up to the front of his table. In a loud, clear and commanding voice, the alu-fiend said, "Listen up! There's a battle shaping up on the Burning Glacier of Mungoth. All of you maggots are going there – today. So finish up your chow, march down to the armory and get yourselves ready! You have 30 minutes. Then you'll meet me in the debarkation room." Then she was gone, stalking out of the dining room.

Knowing it could very well be his last meal for a while, Valen hurriedly choked down the gruel that passed for food in this place. Months of experience had taught him that when one of the lieutenants said march; they meant it. He double timed down to the armory, hoping to get there before most of the others so he could at least have his pick of secondary weapons.

He had earned enough stature in the past several months to garner himself a suite of rooms and his own personal armor and weapon. But additional weapons had to be fought over with the other conscripts in the armory. His sheer size was an advantage, but some of those small guys were tough, and wouldn't back down. Not that he could blame them: bad armor or weapons could very well spell your death on the fields of the Blood War.

By the time the 30 minutes had passed, he was standing at attention in the debarkation room, armor on and weapon at the ready. Part of him reveled at the thrill of going into battle: testing his mettle against the devils they would inevitably come across in a gigantic chess game that never seemed to result in a victor. Who was behind all these machinations he would never know. In fact, it was doubtful that even Grimash't knew who was calling the shots in this war. He got his marching orders, just like the rest of them. The only difference was that he was higher up the food chain.

When the assembled platoon of alu-fiends, cambions, tieflings, babau and glabrezu were gathered in the debarkation room, Verdalin, the alu-fiend who had conscripted them all stood up. They had all heard of her exploits – she was considered quite a survivor in the tower, and Grimash't often placed her in charge of dangerous but vital missions.

"Look berks," she barked out. "This ain't going to be a pleasure cruise. If I find any of you sluffing off your duties, I'll run you through without a second thought. We're to travel to the glacier, kill all the baatezu, and then we'll be brought back." There would be no inspiring speeches calling them to war. She turned and began the incantation that would open the portal to their destination.

It sounded simple. But it wouldn't be. It never was. The baatezu always came on in greater numbers than they expected, or the terrain was more treacherous, or something unexpected was present. They would only survive if they kept their wits about them. And sometimes even that wasn't enough.

The pop of displaced air accompanied them to their current battleground. Around them were steep craggy mountains belching fire, smoke and lava. Beneath their feet were ice and snow, jagged and treacherous. The air was acrid and burned their eyes, making them tear up to clear the foul stuff away. It hurt to breathe, and already the devils were advancing on them, having sensed the arrival of tanar'ri through their common bond of absolute hatred.

With a loud cry, the tanar'ri rushed forward, all thoughts of anything other than killing gone from their minds. For a few moments, Valen resisted the lure of the demon within; but it was pointless. Soon he was just as bloodthirsty as the rest: hacking his way through an army of fiends and relishing every moment of it.

The battle raged for an indefinite amount of time. Besides dodging angry Baatezu, there were vast and treacherous crevasses to be avoided, and mudslides and avalanches that rumbled down the steep slopes of the volcano almost hourly. An entire flank of the tanar'ri was destroyed by one such avalanche, their bodies buried under tons of acidic snow and jagged rock.

But all things come to an end, even if it is a temporary one. Eventually the last Baatezu took his last gurgling breath. The battle was over. The semi-flat icy plain was strewn with carcasses slowly dissolving in the snow. The tanar'ri force was weakened: most of the rutterkin and dretches were gone, and of the higher thinking demons only a handful were left.

Valen stood with the others as they warily assessed each other. The blood lust didn't fade right away, and often the tanar'ri turned on each other when the devils were all dead. The others circled around: all of them paranoid and waiting for the gate to open so they could retreat back to the Abyss, clean their weapons and prepare for the next battle.

A puddle of light formed in the air between them, coaxed into life by Verdalin. The fiends rushed towards it, pushing each other out of the way as they struggled to get off the damn burning glacier. Valen waited: the portal would stay open long enough for all of them to enter. There weren't that many of them left, after all.

As he stepped through the shimmering gateway, he was surprised to find not Grimash't's tower, but a bridge stretching out before him. A host of tanar'ri were standing before them, swarming with the ever present rutterkin and dretches that served as front line troops. Graynoth stood with a circle of other lesser tanar'ri, his hand clutched around a rod that indicated he was in charge.

"We must keep the bridge!" he cried over the howls of the devils in the distance. The cataracts of the river were loud, the water splashing and skidding into rocks and boulders that barred its passage. Eddies swirled hundreds of feet below them. Ships sailing down the river were anchoring at a flat spot below the bridge, and hundreds of baatezu were disembarking and beginning the long climb up the cliffs to the bridge.

It was easy to pick them off at first, but they just kept coming and coming. Eventually they swarmed over the bridge, forcing the tanar'ri to retreat to one end. A few more platoons gated in, and the whole group of demons surged across the bridge, determined to take it no matter what the casualties were.

Existence narrowed down to the clash of metal and ideology. A ferocious hate burned within Valen; seething with animalistic intensity. The sight of the baatezu brought it to the front of his mind, the world colored red and all higher thought blocked out. There was only him, the baatezu, and the rage that existed between them. With a loud yell, he plunged into battle, his weapon an extension of his arm and his will. Giving in to the hatred and rage inside of him he let it consume him in a burning inferno; his humanity forgotten.

For long days they struggled against the devils. Each side sought to move the other back, claiming the bridge as their own. Some days the tanar'ri seemed to be winning: some days it was the baatezu. The struggle was endless. They would back up, regroup and rest. Sometimes they would eat, speaking to each other in terse tones and making ribald comments. Death laid heavily on their minds – not only that of their foes, but their own as well.

Something had to change – a new strategy was called for. In quiet measured tones, Valen proposed a plan that was as novel as it was unexpected. Most tanar'ri didn't follow strategy: they simply fought until they couldn't anymore. But Valen wasn't strictly tanar'ri, and his human side realized the value of preparation over mindless battle. Grudgingly Graynoth agreed, even though he suspected the plan would be abandoned within the first few minutes after the enemy was engaged. In the sand Valen drew out the lines of attack, pointing with his fingers who was to go where. The group divided up. The next push they would try this. If they succeeded, they would return to Grimash't victors. If they didn't, they would be dead. For the plan, if it failed, would get them all killed. They were tired and battle weary. Their armor and weapons needed repair. It wouldn't be long before attrition would get them. And the devils seemed to have a never ending supply of fresh troops. Since Graynoth had arrived with that one platoon, Grimash't had sent no one else. Either way, after this, they were done. Collectively they breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it was almost over, one way or another.

The push came and one group surged across the bridge, meeting their enemy in a calculated head on fight. As they began to take casualties, they slowly retreated back to a set point, where the second group was waiting. They lurked, hidden by magic, until the devils were behind them. In a great sweeping rush they outflanked the baatezu, slaughtering them mercilessly and dumping their bodies into the Styx to be swept away and broken upon the rocks.

The tanar'ri held the bridge as Graynoth sent messages: _mission accomplished. Send reinforcements to replace us or lose this chunk of rock anew._ Within hours, hundreds more tanar'ri arrived to solidify their hold on this famous lynch pin in Gehenna – the Bridge of Khalas.

The alu-fiend gestured madly and the tell tale energies of a teleport spell swirled around them. Those that had come here from Mungoth ground their teeth in anticipation. Would they be sent home? Or would they find themselves on yet another battlefield to fight another ultimately pointless battle? Valen tensed, clutching his flail resolutely in his hand. He watched as the other tanar'ri snarled at each other, some of them ripping into the dretches as their anger spilled over.

A shift and a jerk and he landed somewhere else. Cautiously he opened his eyes, and sighed in relief. Grimash't's tower. They were home at last. One of the balor's majordomos arrived in the hall where they'd landed. "All of you are to receive accolades. Follow me."

The surviving tanar'ri filed into Grimash't's presence, scraping their knees on the hard stone. The majordomo held Valen back with a brief shake of the head. "Not yet," he said enigmatically. When the booming voice of the demon had stopped, the wizened little creature that had brought him here pushed Valen forward. "Now."

As he entered Grimash't's receiving hall, he instinctively fell to one knee, bowing his head. He had learned through many failed attempts that to stand in opposition to the master here was to be punished severely. So he gave his obescience, even though it rankled him to do so.

"Rise, Valen, and accept your due," the balor boomed out.

He stood, surveying his surroundings. The majority of those he'd fought with were here, including Graynoth. The cambion smiled evilly, showing a great row of sharpened teeth. "I am the one who masterminded that feint, my lord," he snarled, turning his lurid red eyes from Valen to Grimash't. "Shadowbreath merely followed orders."

"Liar!" Valen shouted. Rage rose up and over him as he marched across the stone to stand in front of Graynoth. The other fiend stepped back, dropping into a crouch. Valen began to circle him, relishing the opportunity to finally kill this thorn in his side. His steps grew faster and his arms reached out, testing the cambion's defenses.

"Enough!" shouted Grimash't. "I will not have my two best warriors fighting each other to the death." With a flick of his wrist he sent them sprawling onto the floor in opposite directions. "Shadowbreath – you have earned a boon," he intoned, the timbre of his voice echoing throughout the chamber. "What will you have?"

It was the policy of the balor to reward his fighters for their efforts. Most days, that was. Some days he forgot, or didn't care to pay what they asked for. So requests were made that wouldn't make the great demon mad. Several other 'great' warriors had found themselves thrown to the pits or the dungeons after asking for something far beyond their reach.

A small flicker of suppressed humanity surged within Valen as he heard the balor grant him a bonus. The responsibility he felt over bringing another to this place, even though months had passed since their arrival, combined with the strange prophetic dreams he'd been having lately combined to make his next words all but a given. "I want Anara dedicated to me, and only me," he stated. His eyes flared brightly, daring the demon to deny him this. It wasn't that much to ask, after all. Just a woman, and one that was rumored to be so broken as to be worthless.

For long, silent seconds Grimash't stared at him. Valen began to think he was going to join those who had demanded too much. But a small measure of his defiant nature remained, and he stared back at the balor, unblinking. A low rumble erupted from the demon, and then he opened his mouth wide, guffawing with laughter. "You presume much, tiefling," he said in a sibilant voice. "But I will grant your wish – for a time." Then he waved his hand, dismissing them all from his presence.

Valen was tempted to stay and argue. He hadn't meant _for a time_, he'd meant forever. He had to protect her – she was his responsibility and even if she had completely lost her mind, it didn't change a thing. But to argue with a demon was the height of foolishness. In the end it would buy him nothing but pain and sorrow, of which he already had plenty.

Keeping his irritation in check, both at the time limit imposed on his request and the fact that he had not been allowed to fight Graynoth, Valen made his way back to his rooms. There was no telling when the Matron would get Anara to him: it could be soon, or it could be in a few days. It really depended where she was and what her current duties were. But Grimash't usually kept his word, if only to keep his warriors fighting at their most ferocious for him.

The rooms were silent when he entered. He stripped off the beaten and dented armor and laid it outside the door to be repaired. A servant miraculously appeared, and when he told it to draw him a steaming bath, it did so without question.

As he sank into the hot water, he let out a sigh of relief. His muscles were sore and battered, and the heat from the water was a welcome balm. When he finished with his bath he dressed in a simple tunic and trews, cinching the drawstring at his waist. Then he bid the ever present servant to fetch him a feast, for he was starving. He pulled his damp hair back into a pony tail, securing it with a strip of leather.

Fatigue and hunger warred within him for the dominant need as he pushed open the door to the main room of his suite. The servant was bustling in with a cart load of food as Valen looked up.

And stopped, his heart thudding in his chest.

A pale waif of a woman stood in the center of the room. It wasn't how he'd remembered her, in his dreams. She had been vibrant once and full of life. This woman was a husk – the shell of the one he'd known briefly. Grief and sorrow clutched at his heart as his throat grew tight. It wasn't the reunion he'd hoped for. But now that she was here, he intended for her never to suffer again.


End file.
